The Enemy of My Enemy
by A Lush Noble Rose Cockles
Summary: Harry and Draco could never be friends, but in their 5th year, everything changes. When Voldemort puts their lives in danger, they realize that there's something more than schoolboy rivalry between them and the only way to survive is to embrace it. DMHP
1. Chapter 1

_FULL SUMMARY: _Harry and Draco were never meant to be friends, but in their 5th year, everything changes. When Voldemort puts their lives in danger, their fates are intertwined in a way they can't ignore. Harry and Draco come to realize that they have more in common than they ever realized. The only question is: Will the passion burning between them be enough to overthrow the forces trying to pull them apart? DMHP

* * *

Chapter One [Prologue]

* * *

The remains of a fire crackled in the hearth of the parlor—painting it in a heavy gold light. A blonde woman sat amidst the burgundy cushions of a loveseat, her thin frame clothed in black velvet. For all the wealth that her acquired name had earned her, Narcissa Malfoy couldn't even feel at ease sitting by the fireside.

"What is it you've called me here for, Mother?" asked a young man from the doorway. His sharp-featured face was pale; his hair moonlight blonde. He and Narcissa wore the same looks of contempt—tightening their fine features into perpetual expressions of distaste.

"Come sit, Draco," the woman said, patting the cushion next to her. "I want to speak to you about something."

Draco hesitated in the doorway, before striding into the room and positioning himself into the seat of an armchair across from his mother, rather than next to her, causing one side of his face to be cast in the light of the fireside, while the other remained in darkness.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked. As contemptuous as his expression was, his voice held no malice in it.

Narcissa nodded, staring toward the fire. "You must know why your father has been out of the house so often lately."

Draco's expression turned from one of distaste to one of anxiety. "I do," he said.

"Then you also must know that, with His rise, we will be facing a great danger." Narcissa let her eyes flicker in the firelight as she watched him.

Draco looked away from her. Narcissa's glance conveyed more than just a warning. In her narrow features—her silver-blue eyes—sadness called out to him, as if there was some terrible danger that awaited him that only she could foresee.

"What danger?" Draco said, his nose crinkling with disdain. Narcissa saw through his contemptuous façade easily enough. She saw the same expression often enough on the face of her husband. It was their only defense against the fear that reigned over their house.

Narcissa sighed. "Oh Draco, you are too young to know how it was." She lowered her voice, a tone of nostalgia creeping in. "When He was killed—or when we thought he was, oh, we were so naïve—we were so relieved; so happy! For so long, we had been unable to move out from under the darkness we had found ourselves caught up in." Her eyes went dark, staring off into the flames for a long time. When she spoke again, her voice was pleading.

"You know I love your father," she said. "You know how much I love you, Draco. Don't you?"

Draco's face turned red around his ears. "Mother…"

"I care about you so much," Narcissa said. "Don't ever forget that."

"I won't," said Draco, surprising himself. "But why are you telling me all of this?"

Narcissa's eyes glowed in the firelight. "Promise me you'll do one thing I ask of you, Draco," she said. "Then I will tell you."

"What do you want me to do?" Draco asked.

"Just promise me, Draco."

Draco gave his mother a hard look, not wanting to promise anything without knowing her conditions, but simultaneously needing to know the information she was keeping from him. "Alright," he said. "I promise I'll do whatever it is that you want me to do. Now will you explain to me what's going on?"

Narcissa nodded, her expression somber. "I don't want this life for you," she said. "I don't want you to be a slave—a pawn to the Dark Lord's game. I want you to be what your father has been pretending to be for the past fourteen years: A respectable, noble… dignified wizard. I want you to grow up to be a leader of the magical community. I—" Her voice broke then, and her eyes glassed over with tears. "I just want you to have the chance to grow up," she said. "To live to become an adult, fall in love, maybe even have children—"

"Mother!" Draco scowled, the crinkle back in his nose.

"This is important, Draco," Narcissa said. "The Dark Lord's games are not for children. I don't want you becoming a Death Eater like your father. That is something I will not allow."

Draco's eyes flashed. "Is that what you made me promise about?" he asked.

Narcissa laughed. "Of course not," she said. "I hoped you would avoid that position by your own choice. There is no glory in becoming a pawn to a losing game." She shook her head, losing her gaze once again to the flames. "No," she said. "When I had you promise you would do something I asked, I had something completely different in mind."

"What then?" Draco asked.

"I want you to befriend someone on the other side. Someone whose friendship will undoubtedly help you avoid the path down which your father and I have mistakenly pulled you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Who is it?" he asked.

"A classmate of yours." Narcissa turned her head a fraction of an inch, steadying herself for Draco's imminent disapproval. Then she spoke the name.

"Harry Potter."

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 1000 hits and 20 alerts in my first week! Please add this story to your alerts if you already haven't so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

* * *

After a summer of not hearing once from either of his best friends, Harry Potter had narrowly escaped expulsion from Hogwarts after the Ministry had done everything they could to put him out of commission. Voldemort was back on the rise, but the Ministry's propaganda about his apparent instability kept anyone from believing him. They didn't even believe Dumbledore.

This was why—when Harry found out he was going to have Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts back to back four times a week—he took his frustration out on Ron and Hermione.

"Maybe I'll drop out of school and get a job working on the Quibbler," Harry complained.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Come on, Harry. It won't be so bad."

"Are you kidding?" Ron said. "I agree with him on this. It'll be terrible. Umbridge _and_ Snape? That's more than anyone can bear."

Harry's shoulders slumped and Hermione placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Look, just stay optimistic," she said. "It won't be half as bad if you don't go in expecting it to be bad."

"But then you're having all your hopes smashed," Ron said, earning a particularly nasty look from Hermione. "Sorry," Ron amended. "Maybe it _won't_ be so bad, Harry."

Harry nodded, but his heart wasn't in on it. "Thanks guys," he said. He knew there wasn't like they could do anything about it.

"Alright, well—" Ron nodded to Hermione. "We've got to go perform some prefect duties. I guess we'll see you at Potions."

Harry felt his mood lower significantly. He'd forgotten about their prefect duties. Of course, they'd be leaving him alone a lot more this year. "Right," he said. "I guess I'll… see you guys around."

Ron and Hermione shot him apologetic looks, but Harry had already turned, heading back toward the Gryffindor common room. He had just rounded a corner when he almost bumped into someone—someone with platinum blonde hair and silver-blue eyes.

"Malfoy."

Harry met his eyes in silence and waited for some kind of retort. None came. Malfoy's expression flickered in hesitance and his silence made Harry uncomfortable. Insults he could handle—he'd taken enough of those. Even a hex he could have thrown a defensive spell back at, but there was nothing he could say to silence. He started to edge around the Slytherin. That was when he noticed that Malfoy was alone.

"Where are Crabbe and Goyle?" Harry asked, looking around the corridor as if they might ambush him from any direction.

A haughty smile appeared on Malfoy's face. "I told them to take the day off. I do walk around by myself sometimes, you know."

Harry nodded, unsure how to respond. "Right, well—"

"How was your summer?" Malfoy asked.

Harry paused in irritation, then glared at Malfoy. "What game are you playing, Malfoy?"

"It's not a game," Malfoy said, his lip curling into a sneer. "I was only trying to…" He looked like he had trouble putting the words together. "I was curious," he said finally. "That's all. And you can call me Draco if you want. The whole last names thing has gotten stale, hasn't it?"

Harry looked at him as if he had turned into a Norwegian Ridgeback. "Fine then, _Draco_," he said, filling the word with plenty of contempt. "My summer was terrible. It couldn't have been worse. Thanks for the interest." He turned, then, striding toward Gryffindor tower.

"Potter—Wait!" Draco tried to call out to him, but Harry had already disappeared around the corner of the next marble corridor.

* * *

When Harry thought he'd finally put enough distance between himself and Malfoy, he paused, stopping in the middle of the corridor. His breath came out harder than usual—as if he'd just run a great distance—and his heart beat loudly in his ears. He wasn't sure if that was because he'd just scaled a couple flights of stairs and now stood in an empty corridor or if it was for another reason entirely, but he did know one thing.

He didn't trust Malfoy.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 1000 hits and 20 alerts in my first week! Please add this story to your alerts if you already haven't so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

* * *

Harry entered potions class expecting the worst. More or less, his first impression was exactly what he expected.

"Mr. Potter finally decides to make an entrance," said a silky voice from the back of the classroom. "And here we were beginning to worry." Professor Snape looked down the bridge of his nose at Harry and repressed a smirk. "Five points from Gryffindor," he said. " Such a wonderful way to start the new year. I'm sure your housemates will be enthralled."

Harry scowled, flushing red in indignation, but said nothing as he turned and strode toward Ron and Hermione, who sat off to the far right of the class amongst the other Gryffindors.

"Not so fast, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "The only available seat appears to be next to Mr. Malfoy. I trust you'll have no trouble finding it. Or will I have to take another five points from Gryffindor?"

His face burning like he'd been scalded, Harry spun around and trudged his way over to sit next to the last Slytherin he wanted to see. Harry felt his veins heat to a boil as he went over every comeback he knew. Malfoy would undoubtedly make a remark about letting his house down or something to that degree.

Surprisingly, though he seemed tense about having Harry as his potions partner, Malfoy didn't make any move to insult him. "We should start," he said in a low voice. "You missed the announcement, but we're brewing Veritaserum today."

Harry cursed under his breath. "That's fantastic. Is that even possible for us to brew in our fifth year?"

Malfoy answered him with a smug smile. "Watch and learn, Potter."

* * *

Within the next three minutes, Harry and Draco's cauldrons—placed next to each other—were simmering to a boil. After adding apple acid and Veela eyelash to a mixture of salt and bicorn horn shavings, the contents of their cauldrons glowed a ghostly blue as if something bioluminescent had been born inside of them.

"We're going to need rumsprout beans," Malfoy said, reading down the list of ingredients. "We're actually adding them in a little late, but as long as we stir counterclockwise instead of clockwise when it says to in step eight, the end result should be the same."

Harry watched Malfoy split open a buttermilk root to get at the dust that had gathered inside it, which he then funneled neatly into each of their simmering potions. Whether he felt Harry staring at him or he just noticed Harry hadn't moved from where he stood, Malfoy looked up, meeting his eyes.

"Don't stare, Potter. It's rude. And those rumsprout beans aren't going to fetch themselves."

"Oh… Right." Harry turned away before he could embarrass himself further and strode toward the community supplies across the room, where he made a brief search through the many cabinets for the rumsprout beans.

"You okay, Harry?" a voice asked from behind him. Ron had come to meet him at the cupboard—apparently searching for the same ingredient. When Harry finally found where the beans were hidden, Ron took a handful for himself.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Working with Malfoy," he said. "You looked kind of upset."

Harry nodded. The faint trace of a blush enamored his cheeks. "It's Veritaserum," he answered. "It's a complicated potion."

Ron nodded, but before he could speak again, a dangerously low voice from behind them cut him off.

"No chit-chat in my classroom," said Professor Snape. "Another five points from Gryffindor, I think, from each of you."

Ron shot Harry an apologetic glance and stumbled back off toward Hermione. Harry grabbed the rumsprout beans from the cabinet and went back to Malfoy with red ears.

"He really dislikes you," Malfoy said when Harry placed the beans on his cutting board. "Even more than he dislikes the other Gryffindors. What did you _do_ to him?"

"Nothing," Harry said, watching as Malfoy took the beans and began to slice them neatly through a diagonal. "I didn't do anything to him."

Malfoy nodded, his blue eyes flickering across the room. "Snape's making his rounds," he said, tilting his nose toward their cauldrons. "Take the aconite petals out of their wrappings and count out seven for each potion."

Harry didn't need to be told twice. Looking busy was ideal when Snape was making his rounds. He did exactly as Malfoy said, only pausing to check in the text to make sure that really was what he was supposed to be doing. It worked out perfectly that just as Snape walked by them, Harry was able to toss seven aconite petals into his potion, turning it a healthy bronze.

Snape narrowed his eyes and walked on toward his next potential victim.

With newfound confidence, Harry read the next line of instruction from his textbook and reached out his hand to open a tiny vial of unicorn blood.

"Don't!" Malfoy said, grabbing Harry's wrist to stop him before he could touch the bottle.

Harry's eyes darkened as he yanked back his hand. "What?" he demanded.

Malfoy scowled. "Unicorn blood becomes almost volatile when it's stoppered up for this long, Potter. You have to be delicate about it, or you'll blow us all the way to Ravenclaw Tower."

Harry looked from Malfoy to the tiny vial, rubbing his wrist where Malfoy had grabbed him. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't know."

Malfoy's features softened just the slightest bit. "You really don't understand potions, do you, Potter? I don't mean it as an insult," Malfoy said, seeing Harry's expression. "You've just got a lot of Gryffindor in you—Too much impulsiveness. You shouldn't come late to class, by the way. It just puts Snape in a bad mood."

"No one asked you for your opinion," Harry said.

Malfoy shrugged. "It just gives him an excuse to take points from—"

"I _know_—"

"Well don't you care about your house?"

"_Yes!_" Harry hissed, almost falling into parseltongue there was so much force behind it. Unfortunately, Snape heard him and whipped around from the other side of the room.

"I'll have quiet in my classroom, Mr. Potter. Don't make me ask again. Another five points from Gryffindor."

Harry seethed in his seat, his fists clenching over his wand.

"It's fine," Malfoy said. "Good timing, even. He was just about to embarrass Longbottom."

Harry looked across the room and saw a relieved expression cross Neville's face as Snape walked past him. He felt his anger seep away just as quickly as it had come.

"You'll gain them back soon enough, anyway," Malfoy said. "Doesn't Dumbledore give you—what—two hundred house points at the end of every year?"

Harry smiled at the jibe, but frowned, remembering the end of last year, with the Triwizard Tournament, the revival of Voldemort, and Cedric… The memories jarred him in a way that brought him back to his senses.

"You've been acting… different, Malfoy," he said.

Malfoy grinned, but lost his smile just as quickly.

"Don't think you've tricked me into thinking you're something you're not," Harry said. "Acting like you're… like we're…" He shook his head. "I don't trust you," he finished. "You can't erase the past four years."

Malfoy paused in his ingredient chopping for only the slightest moment. "The first day of school, I offered to be your friend," he said. The steady _chop, chop, chop_ reverberated under his hand. "My only reasoning then was that I thought it would be cool to know the famous Harry Potter." Laughing under his breath, he ceased his chopping and looked Harry dead in the eyes. "Is there any way you would reconsider your answer?"

Harry's brow furrowed. Anxiety tightened like a devil's snare around his chest. "What are you saying, Malfoy?"

Malfoy dumped the contents of his cutting board into his cauldron and Harry's, which both uttered clouds of smoke and turned a vivid blue. Malfoy didn't look at Harry when he answered. "I'm suggesting…" He paused, drumming his slim fingers against the edge of his textbook. "I think it would be in both of our best interests if we dropped this whole _rival_ act."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Like we dropped the last names act? You've been calling me Potter all class."

Malfoy shrugged, his familiar façade of haughtiness back in place. "Old habits are hard to break," he said.

Harry watched as Malfoy dribbled the unicorn blood into the cauldrons. The potions changed to the palest shade of lavender.

"Class is dismissed. Leave your potions where they are," Snape said, waving his wand and writing the homework assignments on the board. "I expect your essays on the effects of Veritaserum to be better than acceptable, or else I'll assign detention."

The students—Gryffindor and Slytherin alike—quickly gathered their things and rushed toward the door. With a quick sweep, Harry grabbed his things and tossed them into his bag. Ron and Hermione were at the door waiting for him. He looked back to Malfoy, who seemed to be preoccupied in gathering his things.

"You're right," Harry said in answer. "Old habits _are_ hard to break. That's why I don't trust you." He swung his bag over his shoulder and said only, "I'll see you around," before heading toward the door to meet his friends.

Malfoy watched him go, swallowing back his emotions and eyeing his potion—still glowing lavender.

Professor Snape strode over, a scroll in hand, and took one look at the contents of his cauldron before marking on the parchment with his wand. "Your potion was brighter than Miss Granger's," Snape said. "A commendable effort, and a sign of a true potions master, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure your father will be very pleased to hear."

Malfoy nodded. "Thanks, Professor." Then he gathered his things and left the classroom alone.

* * *

AN: Please take this time to leave a review and/or add this story to your alerts so that you will be informed of when it is updated. The updates will hopefully be frequent and irregular.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

* * *

Harry, Ron, and Hermione went straight from Potions to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and therefore arrived a couple minutes early. Taking their seats near the middle of the classroom, they broke into discussion.

"Oh, that Veritaserum essay's going to keep me up all night," Ron whined.

Hermione broke into a response about how she would help him check it if he really needed it. Harry, meanwhile, was thinking about Potions class. He would have mentioned it right then, but a handful of other Gryffindors and even a few Slytherins came striding through the door, so he kept the details quiet.

"You guys, remind me later, there's something I want to talk to you about when we get a moment alone," he said.

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Is it about Mal—"

Harry shook his head, signaling for Ron to be quiet. The Slytherin in question had just walked into the room. At first he stood almost awkwardly at the front, making a round to pick a seat, but then he seemed to come to a decision, and he stuck his nose up just the slightest bit and walked over to sit just across the aisle from Harry, Ron, and Hermione. When he sat, he gave the curtest of nods in Harry's direction, and then turned to begin a conversation with Pansy Parkinson, who was sitting just behind him.

Ron turned to Harry with narrowed eyes. "What was _that_ about?" he asked.

Harry sunk lower in his seat. "I said I would tell you later."

Hermione watched Harry with the keenest of expressions. She didn't get to make much of an assessment, though, because just then the old toad-face herself stepped into the room.

She was even more terrible than Harry remembered from his trial. She was dressed in a vivid pink skirt and cardigan, with matching sweater. Even her wand had been decked in pink, with what seemed like rose gold twining across the wood. She tapped the wand once on the edge of a desk—calling the attention of every student—and then gave a little "hem, hem!" to clear her voice. Her smile was so sugary; Harry thought he might even get a stomachache.

"Good news, class!" she said in her tittering voice, though the class didn't seem all that enthused about whatever news she had to offer. "I'm sure you realized, since there were no requirements for purchasing workbooks for Defense Against the Dark Arts, that they would be supplied."

With a wave of her wand, the aforementioned books each flew out from a shelf and landed neatly in front of a student. Silence descended for but a moment as the students read the title.

Hermione raised her hand. "Professor Umbridge," she said, her voice tentative, "this is a beginner's textbook, but we're in our fifth year. Surely… this can't be what we'll be learning from."

Harry agreed. _A Beginner's Guide to Defensive Theory_ was the name of the text in front of him, and the cover displayed colorful cartoon wizards. It clearly had been published for a younger audience.

Umbridge smiled that too-sweet smile of hers, and gave a tiny laugh as if Hermione was just a silly girl and not the brilliant witch her peers had come to respect her as. "The Ministry has approved this curriculum for you, and so it is the curriculum you will be learning from," she said. "Now, if there aren't any more silly questions, open your books to page four and begin reading chapter one."

Hermione raised her hand again.

Umbridge made another hem-hem noise, but nonetheless nodded toward Hermione.

"I've already read it," Hermione said.

"Then perhaps chapter _two_, dear, if you are such an over-achiever."

Hermione shook her head. "I've read the _entire book_," she said. "And though the rest of the class might not have, I can assure you that we've covered the content."

Umbridge's cheeks turned the same color pink as her cardigan. "The Ministry has approved it, and therefore it is the only content you will learn."

Hermione's face went red in frustration, but she said nothing, not knowing how to contradict a teacher.

Looking from the book to Umbridge, Harry slowly but surely raised his hand. From across the aisle, he saw Malfoy shoot him a warning glance, but he paid him no attention.

"Yes, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge said, her eyes gleaming.

"If you don't mind me asking, Professor," Harry said, "If the book is just theory, when are we going to actually—you know—_learn_ the spells?"

Umbridge laughed her tittering little laugh as if Harry had just told a particularly funny joke.

"The _Ministry_," she said, waving her wand with a flourish, "has not approved learning how to cast the spells in the curriculum."

Harry's eyes grew wide. "How are we supposed to properly defend ourselves if we aren't taught defensive spells?"

Now the entire class had their eyes on him. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry felt Malfoy's eyes boring into his as he shook his head for Harry to keep his mouth shut.

Umbridge giggled again, but this time there was something nervous about it. "And whatever would you have to defend yourself from?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Voldemort is one of the first examples that comes to mind."

Professor Umbridge reddened in the face. "Twenty points from Gryffindor for your _outrageous_ lies, Mr. Potter!"

"It's not a lie!" Harry protested, feeling his face burn as he felt the gaze of his classmates on him. "What about Cedric Diggory? Do you think he just died on his own?"

"An unfortunate accident of the Triwizard Tournament, and that's all," Umbridge said, puffing out her chest. "I will have no more of this Voldemort nonsense."

"But he's _back_," Harry said. "I _saw_ him come back—"

"Mr. Potter! If you can't control your awful lies, then I will be forced to have you removed from my classroom and sent to Professor McGonagall's. I will not tolerate this behavior."

"But they're _not_ lies!"

"Get out," Umbridge said, her voice grossly calm.

Harry stood from his chair, grabbed his bag, and walked out of the room.

Not once did he look back.

* * *

AN: Forgive me for this chapter, which, though it is a scene pulled from OotP, is relevant to the plotline and therefore had to be mentioned.

Please add this story to your alerts so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

* * *

Harry took his time getting to McGonagall's office. He took the long route, up a couple of staircases he might not have needed to take necessarily. He wanted time to cool off, but even procrastinating it as long as he did, he still found himself ruffled when he arrived at his head of house's office. It wasn't just Umbridge that bothered him. He'd seen the looks his classmates had given him—scornful, doubtful, even pitying. They thought he was crazy, and that was the hardest thing to come back from.

McGonagall opened the door before Harry even had the chance to knock.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Mr. Potter?" she said. "Get in here."

Harry followed her in, sitting when she gestured for him to sit.

"You've done a fine job of messing things up for yourself, Potter," she said. "You're lucky Umbridge sent you to me and not Headmaster Dumbledore. He certainly doesn't have the time to deal with such foolishness."

Harry felt his stomach drop at the mention of the Headmaster's name. He hadn't seen Dumbledore since his trial, and then he'd been so distant… well, Harry didn't even know what to think.

Professor McGonagall seemed to notice his look and said, "Look, it's not that bad Potter. Umbridge said she would forget about your outbursts as long as you kept your temper in check."

Harry straightened in his seat. "But she called me a liar!" he said. "She said Voldemort hadn't come back at all—and she says the Ministry hasn't approved her to teach any actual magic in Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

McGonagall's expression darkened. "It's worse than I thought. Potter, if you will excuse me, I must contact Headmaster Dumbledore." Then she turned her back to him and strode to the fireplace, igniting it with floo powder.

"But Professor—"

"Go, Mr. Potter, and be sure you're not late to the detentions Umbridge has assigned you this week."

"Detentions?"

"Yes, Potter. Umbridge wants you in her office every night at eight this week. She'll probably have you write lines or something."

"But I have Quidditch try-outs this Friday!"

McGonagall turned from the fireplace, her eyes stern and her mouth a thin line. "Perhaps next time you will learn to pick your battles, Mr. Potter. Now off with you."

Biting back a retort, Harry exited her office.

The gossip about Harry's showdown with Professor Umbridge was so bad in the Great Hall that Harry, Hermione, and Ron had to leave dinner early.

"They'll quiet down about it soon enough," Hermione said as they crawled through the portrait hole. "They just have nothing better to talk about right now."

"They'd better," Ron said, pointing to his Prefect badge. "Or else I'll make them."

Hermione scowled. "But then you'd be no better than Malfoy."

"Too right. He's probably taking advantage of his Prefect position already," Ron said.

"Malfoy's a Prefect?" Harry asked as they headed over toward the fireplace. "I don't remember seeing a badge on him."

"Oh right," Ron said. "You had to be potions partners with him. How'd that go? Terrible? You said you wanted us to remind you about it."

"Yeah," said Harry, plopping himself into an armchair. Ron and Hermione followed, taking seats across from him. The fire in the grate crackled heartily. "I guess it wasn't as bad as it could have been," Harry said. "Malfoy didn't say anything particularly nasty…" He paused, his brow furrowing.

"What did he say?" Ron asked.

Harry paused, hearing the _click clack_ of knitting needles.

"Sorry," said Hermione. "I'm just trying to finish another hat for the house elves by tonight. I'm still interested, though. You've been acting off. Did Malfoy say something suspicious?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, that's a good way of putting it." He stared off into the embers of the fire. "I think he wants to be _friends_," he said.

Ron laughed—actually leaned back in his chair and laughed at this—but when he noticed that Harry was genuine, he stopped. "Wait, you mean it? Malfoy actually asked to be your friend? You can't actually believe him. It's got to be a trick."

"I know," Harry said. "He didn't actually… At first he asked if I would reconsider the offer he made on the first day of school, but then he said he just thought the whole rival act was getting stale. I don't really know what to make of it. All I know is that I don't trust him, even for all he's worth."

"Not that he's worth much," Ron said with a snigger.

Harry nodded, but his eyes were distant again, back at the fire. He lifted a hand to scratch at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. His eyebrows were knit together like the lumpy hats Hermione was making. When he looked back up, Hermione was giving him the strangest look, as if he had just told her that Hippogriffs could understand Spanish.

"What?" he asked her.

Hermione shook her head, but the corners of her mouth turned up just the slightest bit. "Nothing," she said. "So what are you going to do about him?"

Harry shrugged. "If he doesn't want to be a prick anymore, then that's great for him. I'm not going to do anything about it. I'll probably just do what I've always done and avoid him whenever I can. I still don't trust him."

Hermione nodded, but her smile had gone. "And what about Umbridge?" she asked. "What are you going to do about her?"

Groaning, Harry sunk lower into his chair. "I have detention with her every night this week."

"Even Friday? But that's when Quidditch try-outs are!" Ron said. "You can't miss them!"

Harry scowled, sinking even lower into the armchair.

Hermione watched him, her hands pausing in their needlework. "Harry… I think you should really be careful around her. She's one of Fudge's puppets, and you know Fudge has it out for you."

"I know," Harry said, turning toward the fire. "McGonagall said the same thing. 'Keep your temper in check around her.' I think I'm starting to agree. Something about her seems... I don't know—terrible."

The others nodded, and the group fell into silence as the flames crackled beside them.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 500 hits and 10 alerts in five days! Please add this story to your alerts if you already haven't so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

* * *

That night, Harry had detention with Umbridge for the first time. Once it was over, he went straight to bed without a word to either Hermione or Ron.

As exhausted as he was, Harry found sleeping to be something short-lived and painful. He woke up several times with the back of his hand burning white hot—the memory of pain. Once, he even woke up with tears in his eyes, but that was for another reason entirely.

"Dad?" Harry's eyes widened as he looked around, finding himself alone in his four-poster bed. His fists clenched in anger as a wave of embarrassment washed over him. How could he be so foolish to keep having that dream?

Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes and bringing his legs over the edge of the bed. Moonlight flooded the room. He could see Ron sleeping undisturbed in his own four-poster, with no worries other than grades and getting on the Quidditch team, which was a fairly new development in the life of Ron Weasley.

Harry envied him.

Looking down on his hand, he could see the faintest trail of a scar in the moonlight. _I must not tell lies_, it said. That was what Umbridge had found it fit for Harry to carve into his skin over and over again until the effort of controlling his emotions alone had exhausted him. Nonetheless, Harry was determined to never allow Umbridge the pleasure of seeing him in pain.

He stood up, stretched briefly, and rubbed the scar on his hand, wishing he hadn't been so stupid to get himself a whole week of detentions with that evil toad.

Walking toward the chest at the edge of his bed, he opened it with a soft creak and pulled out his potions textbook along with some quills and parchment. He'd been so tired when he went to bed; he'd completely forgotten the essay Snape had assigned them.

Glancing once more in envy at Ron's sleeping form, Harry gathered all of his things and crept down to the common room. If he wanted his essay done before class, he would have to start now.

The next day's classes were Charms and Potions. Harry was so tired in Charms that he didn't even notice his spinning charm was causing the wooden top Professor Flitwick had given him to splinter. It was fine, though, because Flitwick's attention was entirely focused on Hermione. She had somehow managed to not only conjure several tops from thin air, but make all ten of them spin at once, gaining a solid twenty points for Gryffindor.

"That was really impressive, Hermione," Ron said later, as they walked to Potions. "Where'd you learn to summon tops?"

Hermione smiled. "I got it out of chapter nine. They have a whole segment on summoning household objects and—"

"You look really pale, Harry. You alright?" Ron asked, cutting Hermione off.

Harry turned to Ron, trying to mask his fear behind an expression of tiredness. He'd just seen Umbridge walk by, and the smile she had given him had been purely sadistic. "I'm fine," he mumbled. "Just… not looking forward to Potions."

Ron nodded. "Malfoy?"

"Just try to stay optimistic," Hermione said. "I'm sure it will be fine. At least he won't be antagonizing you."

"But trying to befriend him might be even worse," Ron said with a laugh, but any optimism the three might have had vanished as they entered the Potions classroom.

"Accio Veritaserum essays," Snape said from the back of the class. Out from each student's bag rustled the scrolls of parchment, which flew into his outstretched hand. "Now," he said, pacing down the stone-floored aisle. "If you have noticed the blackboard, you will have noticed that I have made an adjustment to the usual layout of our class."

Harry's eyes flickered the board. The writing there was a devastating blow to any hope he could have had for his plan of avoiding Malfoy.

"Permanent. Potions partners," Snape said, emphasizing the permanent part. "You have each been assigned a partner who I thought would best improve your performance in this class. There is no need to thank me. You brought this upon yourselves with your terrible grades." His black eyes swept toward Harry, lighting on him for the shortest moment as the corners of his mouth turned up.

Harry stared at the blackboard once more. _Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy_. The names looked wrong next to each other. For half a second, Harry thought of forgetting all traces of dignity and fleeing from the classroom altogether. Did he even really need Potions? Well, he supposed he did if he wanted to become an Auror.

Malfoy didn't say anything as Harry approached, though his eyes did meet his for the briefest of moments before becoming once more engrossed in the contents of his potions textbook. Harry took his seat next to him, reading on the blackboard that the potion they would be working on today was Amelia's Mire—A thick slop of a potion that, when ingested, made the drinker twice as agile as they would normally be. Malfoy seemed to already be a couple steps into the process. Two matching cauldrons of the potion sat next to each other, simmering and somehow making a buzzing sound—which was only acquired by step four, adding shroud beetle wings.

Harry was just about to ask what he could do to help when—without even looking up—Malfoy threw a bottle at his face.

It was a close call, but Harry caught it. Glaring at Malfoy, he received no explanation except a series of instructions.

"That one's not volatile," Malfoy said, keeping his eyes on his book. "Open it, measure out a hundred milligrams for each potion, and dump it in. Stir thrice counterclockwise. Don't screw it up."

Harry read the bottle—_Vero Powder—_and nodded, knowing that if he didn't want Snape to come down on him, he would have to do as Malfoy said. He brought a small scale out of his bag, measured out the desired amount of powder twice, and then tapped both amounts into each of their potions. For a moment, he rubbed absent-mindedly at the scar on his hand, and then he grabbed a silver stirrer and placed it into the broth that could apparently heighten reflexes.

A forceful grip stopped Harry's hand before he could stir the potion. Harry looked up and found Malfoy's eyes on him.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy asked.

"Stirring," Harry said. "Like you said."

"Which direction?"

Harry looked from Malfoy to the potion. Realization flickered across his face. "Shit," he said. "Counterclockwise."

Malfoy nodded. "But you were about to stir clockwise. Gryffindor impulsiveness does you a lot of good, doesn't it?"

Harry pulled back his hand, frowning. He wasn't impulsive; he was tired. Seeing Malfoy's eyes flicker to the scar on his hand, Harry said, "Gryffindors are brave, at least. That's more than one can say of Slytherins."

"No idle chit chat, Mr. Potter," Snape said from the back of the class. "Another five points from Gryffindor."

Harry fumed from his seat, but this time, Malfoy said nothing to comfort him.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 800 hits and 15 alerts in one week! Please add this story to your alerts if you already haven't so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

* * *

Malfoy's white-blond hair kept falling into his eyes as he attempted to stir two potions at once, his hands white in the dim light of the potions classroom.

"Separate the puffin spines and chop them into fourths," he said without making eye contact.

Harry grimaced, but nonetheless went to do as Malfoy said. Being Permanent Potions Partners had become a grim routine for Harry. Malfoy didn't look at him. Malfoy didn't smirk at him. Malfoy didn't even _speak_ to him unless it was to give him an order about the next task on the increasingly boring potions they were working on. Harry couldn't even remember what they were brewing today. Something like Marigold's Solution. Or was it another flower? Violet's Solution? Harry couldn't remember. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered in Potions class except not screwing up what Malfoy told him to do.

Potions class had turned into some kind of strange ritual: footsteps on the dungeon floor, hands on ladles, eyes on textbooks. It was a miasma-infused dance, and going through the steps in silence was beginning to grate on Harry's nerves to the point that he almost would have almost preferred Malfoy's suspicious attempts to gain his friendship.

In the (literally) dungeon-like atmosphere, Harry began to feel claustrophobic, and his mind kept wandering back to his detentions with Umbridge. Last night's had been particularly horrible—he had the scars on his hand to prove it—and he still had two more detentions to attend before the week was out.

Harry sighed. He had tried to think of a conversation topic, but nothing ever came to mind. What could he talk to _Malfoy_ about?

In retrospect, Harry assumed he'd just been thinking aloud, but just as he'd chopped the puffin spines into fourths, he said, "I'm sorry about the first day of school."

Draco's eyes flicked up in surprise only for a moment before once more becoming engrossed in his textbook once more.

Harry's shoulders tensed, wondering if that was the only response he was going to get. Then Draco popped a couple of the puffin spine fragments into the potion and locked his eyes on Harry.

"Which first day of school?" he asked. "The one in our first year, when you rejected my offer of friendship, or the one this year, when you snubbed me in the hallway after I tried to ask you how your summer went?"

Harry balked. He had meant the first day of _this_ year, but the first day of his first year hadn't even occurred to him. Did Malfoy expect him to apologize for that, too? "Both, I guess," Harry answered, though he honestly believed Malfoy had somewhat deserved both cases.

Nonetheless, the bitterness in Malfoy's expression seemed to soften at the half-hearted apology.

"Sorry I snubbed you the other day in particular," said Harry.

Malfoy nodded, looking up from the potions. "Well, I haven't exactly given you reason to trust me, have I?"

"No," Harry said, repressing a smile. "You haven't."

Malfoy stirred the potions once each and turned to Harry. "It's hard to be your friend when you keep rejecting my offers," he said.

Harry lost his grin then, because Malfoy was looking at him in a way that suggested that the rejection had really hurt him. He couldn't tell if it was part of an act or not—to gain his friendship—but either way it made him uncomfortable.

"I, um…" Harry broke eye contact and stared down at the textbook in his lap. "What's the next step in the potion?"

Malfoy shook his head, the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. "You're not even on the right page, Potter."

"Oh, right, um…" Harry's face reddened.

"It's three-eighteen," Malfoy said.

Harry nodded, turning to the desired page. He was so embarrassed, he didn't even notice when Malfoy's eyes focused on his hand.

"What is that?" Malfoy said, the smile gone from his sharp-featured face.

"What's w—?" Harry stopped, seeing where Malfoy's eyes were. Malfoy looked at him and Harry knew, just from the expression, that Malfoy had seen the writing. Whether he had made the connection of to whom Harry owed it was another thing entirely.

Shifting his right hand so its secrets lay hidden under the edge of the book in his lap, Harry stared once more at Malfoy before severing the eye contact and asking, "So what's the next step?"

For the rest of the class, neither of them brought up the scars again, but every once in a while Harry would see Malfoy staring at him from the corner of his eye. What he saw in Malfoy's eyes made him feel shaken in a way he hadn't felt since his last detention with Umbridge.

He saw sympathy.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 350 hits, 5 favorites, and 5 alerts since my last update! Please add this story to your alerts if you haven't already so that you will be informed of its future updates.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

* * *

Though every fiber of his being was telling him to turn around and go back to the Gryffindor common room, Harry's feet continued to drag him down the stairs to potions class, ignoring his better judgment. Last night had been the fourth detention he'd had with Umbridge, and the effects were really starting to show. His face looked thinner, his eyes darker, and the way he carried himself made him look as tired and hopeless as if he'd tried to fight off a thousand dementors—Some might have even argued that it looked like the dementors had won.

As he descended the stairs, someone who was going up bumped into him, causing the schoolbag to fall from his shoulder. A manicured hand caught it before it hit the ground.

"Sorry about that. Didn't mean to run into you, Potter."

Harry looked up, eyeing the pale-haired Slytherin. "Malfoy," he said. "Of course."

Draco held the bag out to him. "I didn't see you at breakfast," he said. "You look terrible, by the way."

"You'll make loads of friends with that kind of talk," Harry said. He took the bag from Draco's outstretched hand. "Are you stalking me now?"

Draco grinned, but quickly lost the expression, his eyes flicking to Harry's hands. "You're wearing gloves," he said.

Harry flinched. "Look Malfoy, I'm not going to tell you more than once to lay off. This is the only warning you get." He walked past Malfoy down the stairs, knuckles clenching over the strap of his school bag.

"Wait, Harry—"

Draco grabbed him by the shoulder, stepping around him until he stood in his path. Harry regarded Draco with a cold look, and Draco's expression faltered. "Look," he said. "You're going to potions, right? I'll walk with you."

"I told you to lay off, Malfoy."

Draco stood his ground. "You can say that all you want," he said, "but I still won't believe you actually want to be left alone."

Harry frowned, but then sighed in resignation. "Come on. I don't want to be late this time."

* * *

Professor Snape had his eye on the doorway when Harry and Draco walked in. His mouth—perpetually turned down into a frown when he wasn't smirking—formed a thin line, and his eyebrows shot up into his black hair for a moment before coming back down to furrow in suspicion.

Harry grinned—perhaps the healthiest thing he had done all day—and sat himself next to Malfoy, almost feeling glad to have come to Potions class. Anything that could ruffle the potion master's feathers was a good thing in Harry's book, and it was especially good if he didn't lose any house points over it.

Then Professor Snape waved his wand at the blackboard and any smiles there were to be had disappeared from his students' faces at once.

_Salazar's Solution_—even Harry, as terrible as he was at potions, knew of that one. Hermione had mentioned it with a worried tone at dinner the other night, saying she _just knew_ Snape would thrust it upon them as a test. It was one of the most difficult potions allowed in an OWL level course and here Snape was, giving it to them in the first week.

Draco hissed out a sigh in frustration. "This one's going to be a hard one," he said, giving Harry a look that said _don't fuck it up_.

"Sorry," Harry said in a low voice, hoping the apology covered his terrible lack of skill. "I'll do the easy parts if—"

"There are no easy parts in Salazar's Solution," Draco said. "It's time sensitive. Half the ingredients are volatile. The only person I'd be more worried about in the next half-hour would be Neville Longbottom. I think Snape let him work with Seamus Finnegan as a joke. They cause enough trouble on their own. Working together is just—"

"So is there anything I _can_ do?" Harry asked.

Draco frowned. "You Gryffindors are so impatient. You can help with the preparations. We'll need to have all the ingredients ready before we even start the solution…"

Ten minutes later, Draco had both the cauldrons heated and Harry had gathered every ingredient they would need as well as some others—"precautionary ingredients," as Draco called them. Harry knew they were the kind of thing Draco could toss into the potion if Harry did something wrong. Knowing those kinds of ingredients was the difference between a pass or fail grade for the day.

"What does this solution even do?" Harry asked as Draco turned a page in the text, making sure they'd gotten every ingredient.

"It turns the drinker invisible," Draco said, not even looking up. "It's undetectable by any form of known magic."

"That's got to be useful," Harry said. He didn't mention that he had his own method of invisibility sitting only six floors up.

Draco nodded. "Let's get started. Granger is already on step two."

* * *

Harry made it all the way to the sixth step without screwing up the potion. Listening to the directions Malfoy gave him; Harry paid close attention to how he handled the ingredients and in what method he tended to the potion.

"Mince the gnarled-sprout root _with_ the lacewing flies placed diagonally inside it," Draco said. "The liquid released should be green in color, and have an acrid smell to it—sort of like apples, but sharper. Put a vial of the liquid into the potion and stir thrice clockwise. The potion should turn a dark shade of puce."

Harry nodded, pulling the ingredients onto his cutting board. He sliced the gnarled-sprout root like a Kaiser roll, placed the correct amount of lacewing flies inside it, and brought a knife down quickly in sweeping strokes until it was chopped thoroughly.

Draco was distracted with his own set of instructions, unwrapping the husks of cavern pods and pulling out their inner seeds. He didn't notice that the liquid from Harry's gnarled-sprout roots was slightly too warm a shade.

Harry collected the liquid in a vial, making sure it had the sharp, apple-like scent that Draco had described. By now it was barely green—more of a brown, but Harry didn't notice the color change until he dumped the liquid into the cauldron. When it hit the potion, it turned a vibrant red and golden vapors rose up out of it. Harry cringed, hoping for the worst, but relaxed as the potions darkened to the puce Draco had described.

Harry sighed in relief, figuring that if the potions turned puce, then everything was okay, and completed the step by sweeping the ladle around in each cauldron thrice clockwise.

Draco looked up from what he was doing to examine Harry's work. "The potion looks good," he said. "We probably won't finish today, though. Granger's only on step nine, and there's twenty-five steps. Snape will probably have us finish the potion next class."

Harry nodded, hoping the color change wouldn't come back to bite him later.

"I know it's not really my business, but do Ron and Hermione know about your hand?"

Harry's expression went cold. "You're right, that's _not _your business," he said. "Why don't you lay off like I told you?"

Draco frowned. "So they don't know? I figured as much. They're seemed too caught up in themselves to notice."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry said. "You don't know anything about them."

Draco shrugged. "I just think you should talk to them about your detentions with Umbridge."

Harry looked to Draco in surprise, but then he turned away and his expression darkened to frustration. "Telling them would just cause unnecessary worry," he said. "It's not like they can do anything about it, anyway."

"They would be there for you," Draco said. "I think they would want to know. If one of my friends were in trouble, I would want to know."

Harry nodded, knowing Draco was right. Whether he would actually tell Hermione and Ron was another thing entirely.

"How did you know it was Umbridge?" he asked.

Draco frowned. "I saw the writing," he said. "I think anyone who had witnessed the fight between you and her would have been able to make the connection."

"Except Ron and Hermione," Harry said.

Draco looked at him sympathetically, but could offer no words to comfort him.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 2000 hits and 30 alerts! Please review if you've enjoyed the story so far and add this story to your alerts if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

* * *

The last detention with Umbridge passed in seconds. Harry could hear the wall clock ticking amongst the meows of Umbridge's horrible decorations, but whenever he looked at the time, only a minute seemed to have passed by since the last time he checked.

Finally, just when Harry thought he would pass out any moment, Umbridge cleared her throat with a little "hem-hem" and waved toward the door, beaming as if she had just procured some miracle.

"I hope you have learned your lesson, Mr. Potter. As… _delightful_ as these detentions have been, I don't believe either of us _wants_ there to be any more."

Harry didn't even grace her with a nod. Standing up from his chair, he staggered out the door without looking back and began his trek toward the Gryffindor common room. His footsteps were heavy and leaden as they carried him toward the staircases. As he walked, he pulled from his pocket a roll of gauze that he'd had Dobby swipe from Madam Pomfrey's and began to wind it around his injured hand. He would wash it when he got back to the common room, but for now, he didn't want to bleed all over the corridor floor. He also didn't want anyone to see the writing.

Someone was standing with his back against the banister when Harry got to the first staircase. Harry paused at the corner, unsure if he should continue—not because he didn't know who it was, but because it was Draco Malfoy.

Taking a cautious step forward from behind the corner, Harry stopped and waited to see if Malfoy would turn and notice him. The pale-haired Slytherin didn't seem to notice Harry's presence and instead stared at his fingernails. Harry almost rolled his eyes. How contemptuous did one have to be to prove their point?

Then, without even looking up from his nails, a question came from Draco's mouth in his trademark drawl. "How long do you plan on just standing there staring at me?" he asked.

Harry blushed vibrant red as Draco turned toward him, not even doing the kindness of repressing the satisfied smile that spread across his face.

"I wasn't _staring_," Harry said. "I was wondering what the hell you were doing out here so late. If I didn't know any better, I would guess you were waiting for me."

Draco didn't drop his smile in the face of the accusation. "You should be careful what you wish for," he said.

"I—So you _were_ waiting for me?" Harry asked.

"Maybe I was. I wanted to see how my new friend, The-Boy-Who-Lived, was doing."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Your concern is beyond heart-warming."

"That's the type of remark that would've done well in Slytherin," Draco said.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked, stepping toward the stairs.

"How's your hand?"

Harry looked away from Draco, his fingers clenching into a fist.

"Are you going to see Madam Pomfrey?"

"No."

Draco nodded. "I figured as much. You're not the dependent type."

"What are you even—?" Harry felt his face redden. "She would interrogate me about it—you know she would. And would she even believe me if I told her about the detentions? She might think I've been writing notes to myself in the back of my hand. The world doesn't need another reason to think Harry Potter's crazy."

"Well, you are referring to yourself in the third person."

"You're not funny, Malfoy." Harry shook his head, drained by weariness as he put pressure on the back of his hand. The wound was starting to bleed through the gauze.

Draco took a step toward him on the stairs, looking at the bandages on his hand. "You can't just deal with this on your own," he said.

"I have been and I'm fine."

"Have you seen yourself lately? You look like you've had another go with the Norwegian Ridgeback. Don't _smile_, Harry. It's not a joke."

Harry lost his grin. "What's gotten into you?" he said.

"This isn't about me," Draco said, shaking his head. "This is about _you_—Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived. You can't let yourself be driven into a sickbed by detentions with Umbridge. Everyone is counting on you."

Harry stared at Draco for a long time. He wanted to find something in his tone that was sarcastic, but no matter how hard he looked for it, it wasn't. "Even you, then?" he asked. "Are you counting on me? Who put you up to this, Malfoy? I knew something was suspicious about you wanting to be my friend—no one changes that quickly. I didn't believe for a second that you were any different than the same Malfoy who'd been taunting me and everyone I cared about for the past four years."

"Don't act like I don't have a reason," Draco said, his face the lightest shade of pink. "You rejected me! What was I supposed to do—cry in the dungeons and get over it? Slytherins aren't so quick to forget grudges. Why are those blasted muggle-lovers any more deserving of your friendship than I am, anyway? They haven't even noticed your scars. They don't care!"

Silence fell upon them and Harry stared at Malfoy with such anger and hurt in his eyes that Draco actually cringed.

"Don't _ever_ talk about my friends that way again," Harry said. "You want to know why I'm friends with them? It's because they're not biased, judgmental pricks like you. If they haven't noticed the scars, then it's because they've got their own problems to worry about."

Draco scoffed. "Like grades and Quidditch are real problems. They don't know anything about what you're going through."

"And you do? Fuck off, Malfoy. Drop the friend act. I'm not buying it." He laughed—a cold, sad sound. "You're father's a Death Eater. We could never be friends."

A frown crossed Draco's features and he stepped back off the stairs. "Now who's being judgmental?" he asked. He looked at Harry one last time before walking away, disappearing down the corridor Harry had come through—his head bowed and his shoulders tense.

Harry watched him go and his throat tightened, making him question everything. Gritting his teeth, he punched the marble banister and walked away up the stairs, clutching his injured hand.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 2500 hits and 32 alerts! Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

* * *

Harry crawled into his four-poster bed that night, expecting he would be so tired that he would fall asleep immediately and that would be the end of his night, but he was wrong. Ron was lying awake in his bed, staring up at the ceiling as if he might find an answer to some deeply pondered question in the folds of crimson fabric above him.

"You're still up?" Harry asked. His voice rose barely above a whisper because Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were asleep in the next beds over. He didn't want to wake them.

"Couldn't sleep," Ron said. "I've… I've decided to try out for the Keeper position tomorrow, you know. It's been keeping me up all night." Suddenly, he sat up and looked at Harry. "What were you doing out so late? Oh, right, detention with Umbridge. How'd that go?"

Harry felt his right hand clench, tightening the gauze over his wound.

Ron's eyes fell upon the bandages and he looked to Harry with an eyebrow raised. "What'd you do to your hand, mate? Hagrid's not keeping another dragon, is he?"

Harry shook his head. "Ron… you can keep a secret, right?"

"Of course I can, Harry. What's wrong?" By now, even as dense as he was, Ron had noticed something was amiss—whether in Harry's expression or the bloodstain on his bandages.

Harry began to unwrap the gauze. "In answer to your question," he began, "Umbridge's detentions, for the entire week, have been beyond terrible. They've been torture. She's only been having me write lines—oh sure—but she's been having me write them into the back of my hand." Harry held up his only piece of evidence—his right hand—still smeared with blood. Nonetheless, the writing was clear even though the room was dimly lit.

_I will not tell lies_.

Ron's face was pale.

"Have you told Dumbledore?"

Harry scoffed. "You think he has time to deal with this? He's got more important things on his mind—preparing for Voldemort's first strike, no doubt."

"Then McGonagall—What about her?"

"No," Harry said. "I haven't told her, either. I figure there's nothing she can do."

Ron was sitting straight up now, a look of outrage on his face. "Well you can't just sit there in silence and let that slimy old git of a toad do this to you!" he said. "Go see Madam Pomfrey. She can heal it for you."

"And what? Get rid of my only piece of evidence?" Harry shook his head. "If Umbridge is going to make me cut myself, then the scars are staying—If not as proof to her that she hasn't gotten to me, then proof to everyone else that she's a monster."

"But she has gotten to you, hasn't she?" Ron asked. "You've looked terrible all week. I wanted to ask you about it, but… Shit, I'm sorry, Harry. I should've paid more attention to you and less attention to the stupid Quidditch try-outs."

Harry half-smiled. Quidditch was one Ron' favorite things. For him to bash it like that only proved how good of a friend he was.

"Have you told Hermione?" Ron asked.

"No, not yet." Harry paused, thinking. "I'll tell her tomorrow."

Ron nodded. "Good luck, mate. She'll probably _insist_ that you tell someone about it."

"Yeah. She probably will, but it only means that she's worried about me," Harry said, but it wasn't Hermione who he was thinking about.

* * *

By the next day, it was almost easy to forget about how dreadful Umbridge's detentions had been. Angelina Johnson had Harry's attention.

"Come on, Harry! I want to see speed! Can't you go any faster?"

Harry rolled his eyes. Angelina was turning out to be an even more demanding captain than Wood had been, and that was saying a lot.

"Fred! George! What are you even doing? Go! Formation six! Alicia! Katie! Get in there!"

The only plus side to the hectic practice was that Ron had actually made it onto the team. It was a close call—he'd almost lost his chance to Cormac McLaggen—but in the end, he'd secured it, his face redder than a Quaffle as his brothers Fred and George clapped him on the back in congratulations.

Harry smiled, watching Ron deflect the shots made by the chasers. Katie and Alicia were good, but Ron seemed to be doing just fine—which was a relief. Harry hadn't been sure whether he would be, after that morning. Ron had skipped breakfast entirely, and his face was olive green by the time they walked out onto the pitch.

"I think I'm going to have to schedule more practices," Angelina said, flying up next to Harry.

"Why?" he asked, following her gaze to Ron. "He's doing great."

Angelina sighed. "Maybe you're blinded by your _friendship_, Harry, but he's not half as good as Wood."

"Are you saying something about me, Angelina?"

She scoffed. "You're very close to him—what's not to say?"

"Look, I'm not—We're just friends!" Harry said.

"Mm, I've heard otherwise."

"From _who_?" Harry turned on his broom to face her, both of them hovering in midair. "Who's spreading rumors like that?"

"I don't know who started it," Angelina said. "All I know is that Romilda Vane found out and she's _pissed_."

"Who the hell is Romilda Vane?"

"One of your many secret admirers," Angelina said. "I'll have to introduce you sometime."

"I'm not interested," Harry said. He frowned, turning to watch Ron deflect the Quaffle. "I don't understand this," he said. "There's never been… _anything_ between us. Ron fancies _Hermione_ for fuck's sake."

"Don't sound so dejected."

Harry grew red around the ears but continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Who the hell thought it was okay to start that rumor?" he asked.

"I don't know, Harry," Angelina said, "but now isn't the time for your relationship issues. We've got bigger problems to worry about."

She was right. Harry turned to look where her gaze lay and found himself staring at a hoard of Slytherins who were making their way onto the field, jeering and booing in Ron's direction.

"Shit," Harry said.

Angelina nodded in agreement. Ron had missed three shots in a row.

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 2700 hits and 35 alerts! Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.

Hey, do me a favor! If you've read this far and the story isn't on your favorites—add it! Or leave me a review!


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

* * *

That night, Harry tried to work on a Potions Essay Snape had assigned them for over the weekend, only to fall asleep in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room. When he awoke, it was past midnight, and he was alone except for Hermione, whose knitting needles clacked in the firelight.

Her hazel eyes looked up from her work, noticing he was awake.

"Ron told me you had a long week," she said. "I thought it would be best to let you sleep."

"Er, yeah. About that, Hermione…" Harry massaged a crick in his neck, staring into the fire. "Well, how much did Ron tell you?"

"Everything you told him."

Harry cringed, expecting her to be angry, but the look on her face was only sad.

"Oh, Harry… How could you go on dealing with that all alone without talking to anyone about it?"

"I just thought—" Harry stopped, and then restarted with a different destination in mind. "I thought it wasn't worth telling anyone because no one would've been able to really do anything about it," Harry said. "But I did tell someone about it. Sort of."

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Well, he guessed, I mean… It's not like I told him and not you—"

"Whom are you even talking about?" Hermione asked.

Harry avoided her eyes as he answered. "Malfoy."

Hermione's eyes widened. "You told _Malfoy_ but you didn't tell _us_?"

"He _guessed_, Hermione. I didn't have to tell him anything. He just knew_._"

Hermione frowned. "I should've noticed," she said. "If Malfoy could, then I should've."

"Next time," Harry said, giving her a weak smile.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione's lip trembled and the knitting needles fell from her hand.

Harry stood to meet her.

"I'm so sorry, Harry… I was just so caught up in all my new classes… and O.W.L.S… I just…"

"It's fine," Harry said, patting her on the back.

Hermione pulled away, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve. "I hope Malfoy wasn't horrible to you when he found out," she said.

"Surprisingly, he wasn't," Harry said.

Collecting her knitting from the floor, Hermione stood and turned toward Harry with an expression of confusion.

"Sit. I'll tell you all about it."

Some time later, Hermione asked, "So he's still acting like he wants to be your friend?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. I know it's suspicious—"

"I would say more than _suspicious_, Harry."

"Right, well… If it's just an act…" Harry stared into the fire, frowning. "I'm starting to believe him."

Hermione gasped.

"Yeah, I know it's completely—"

"No, Harry look!"

Harry turned toward the fire, his eyes widening as he made out the features of Sirius' face amongst the flames.

"Good evening," Sirius said, grinning out of the fire. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

Harry shook his head, his ears red. "No. What's up?"

"Well, I can't chat long, but I have some important _Order_ information I thought I'd share with you before Mrs. Weasley decides to snatch me out of the fire by the scruff of the neck."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Sirius smiled, but he quickly lost the expression due to the gravity of his information. "Cornelius Fudge has started spreading rumors about Dumbledore," he explained. "He says he's found evidence that suggests Dumbledore's been training Hogwarts students in combat so he can overthrow the Ministry."

"That's preposterous!" Hermione said. "Dumbledore would never do that."

"I know," said Sirius, "but he's convinced the entire Wizengamot that that's exactly what he's doing. They've already removed him from his title of Merlin 1st class, and I've heard even worse things about their plans for Umbridge. Who knows what they'll do next."

Sirius cleared his throat and said, "Harry, when's your next Hogsmead weekend? I thought maybe I'd drop in to—"

"No!" Harry and Hermione said at once.

"Are you insane?" Harry asked. "They'll chuck you back in Azkaban!"

Sirius frowned. "The risk would have made it fun for James."

With a _pop_, his face was gone from the fireplace, and Harry and Hermione were left in silence, staring into the flames.

Harry turned away, the firelight flickering on his back, and asked, "Why does everyone expect me to be my father?"

* * *

The next day, Harry spent all morning after breakfast trying to write the potions essay Snape had assigned, but no matter how hard he tried to concentrate in the Common Room, he kept finding himself staring into the embers of the fireplace.

"There's a good room on the seventh floor," Hermione offered. "Quiet, with its own library and a good set of couches. Maybe you won't be as distracted there."

Harry nodded. "Where on the seventh floor?"

"There's an enormous tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy—"

"Who?"

Hermione shook her head. "You need to pay more attention in Mr. Binns' history class. I guess to find the room it's not as important to know who he is as it is to know what the tapestry looks like. Barnaby a very tiny man—think Professor Flitwick—and he's training trolls for the ballet."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hermione. I'll be back in time for dinner, I think."

"When you finish, I'll go over the essay with you if you want," she offered.

"You're the best, Hermione," and with that, Harry disappeared through the portrait hole.

* * *

Harry met Draco on the stairs. This time, Draco was not waiting for him. He didn't even bump into him like he had the first time. If not for the startling platinum color of his hair, Harry might not have even noticed him at all, for his eyes were lowered to the ground and he seemed to be in a hurry to descend the stairs past him.

"Malfoy—hey, wait—Draco!"

Draco stopped and turned toward him, his nose upturned, but a sign of hesitation in his eyes. "What do you want, Potter?"

Harry faltered before stepping down the stairs toward him.

Draco's eyes were cool—the coldest of all blues and the steeliest Harry had ever seen them—but Harry recognized the emotion not as condescension but as false strength in the face of apprehension.

"I, er—I just wanted to apologize," Harry said. "For the other day—I…" His voice trailed off as he looked at Malfoy—the silver insignia of Slytherin on his chest. He didn't know whether what he was about to do was foolish, naïve, or insane, but he did it anyway. "Look," he said. "If you want to be my friend… I won't judge you because your father is a Death Eater. You were right; I was being a hypocrite."

Harry held out his hand for Draco to shake, the scarred words shining on the back. "You want to forget the past four years?" Harry asked. "I'm all for it. I was suspicious at first, but you've convinced me."

Draco stared at Harry's hand—then up to his eyes.

"Alright," he said, shaking Harry's hand once before dropping it.

"How does it feel—actually being friends with the Boy Who Lived?" Harry asked.

"Not half as cool as I thought it would."

Harry laughed. "Well then, _friend_, want to help me with my potions essay?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "You are such a charity case," he said.

Harry smiled hopefully.

"Alright, I'll help you—but only because I was about to go write my own paper. I don't want to make this a habit."

* * *

AN: GAHHHH I am so angry. Fanfiction's bugging or something. My hits haven't gone anywhere from the 2700 they were two days ago—and I KNOW they've gone up since then because I've updated twice in that time! I swear to god if they don't fix it... Oh, I am going to be so pissed. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITHOUT PAGEVIEWS?

ANYWAY: Thanks for your support! I now have 42 alerts and 23 faves. Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.

ALSO: In answer to some questions I've been getting... There will be no Harry/Ron in this. It's only going to be HPDM. Ron is just a distraction. Anytime it LOOKS like there might be another pairing, IT IS A LIE. I promise that HPDM is the only pairing involving those two characters. (There may be other side pairings later. MAYBE.)


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

* * *

Harry led Draco back up to the seventh floor; through a strange corridor he'd never seen before and over a bridge that was suspended between two marble corridors. The seventh floor was always the trickiest to navigate, being the floor coinciding with the most powerful magical number. The Gryffindor common room was on the same floor, but the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy was so out of the way, it was impossible to find it without going up and down a few flights of stairs.

Finally, Harry took a right and spotted the tapestry hanging on the wall down the corridor. "Come on, it's here," Harry said.

"We must've walked a goddamned mile," Draco said. "Are you sure this is it? Why don't you just use the library like a normal person? Too used to your celebrity status?"

Harry walked by the tapestry, but there was no door across from it where Hermione said it would be. Turning around, Harry walked past Malfoy and started back the way they'd come, wondering if he'd somehow passed it.

"Wait—where are you going? I thought we were looking for the tapestry," Draco said. "It's right there."

"Right, but… Hermione said the door would be right across from it." Harry walked back down the hallway, past the tapestry. "I don't understand. It should be here. Hermione is never wrong."

Draco snickered. "Maybe she—" Whatever he was going to say, though, was cut off by the appearance of a door, shining out of the stonework as if it had always been there. "Harry, look!"

Harry turned, seeing the door. His eyes widened. "That was _not_ there before."

"No, it wasn't," agreed Draco. "You think that's the room she was talking about?"

"It has to be. I don't see any other doors, do you?"

"Harry, wait," Draco said, but Harry had already pulled open the door and stepped inside.

The interior was much more astonishing than Harry had imagined. When Hermione had said the room, "had its own library," she had poorly understated the amount of books. They were wall to wall—the room was circular—and all the way up to the ceiling, which was high and lit with a golden chandelier. A Persian carpet—lush and red—stretched across the hardwood floor in a subtle design, and—just like Hermione had said—a good set of couches gathered around a small fireplace across from the door.

"A little too Gryffindor for my tastes," Malfoy said. In that instant, the lighting dimmed as if a switch had been lowered. The couches, too, turned a vibrant green and the carpet a startling black—offsetting the gold ornamentation quite nicely.

Harry looked around at the new color scheme. "What did you do?"

Draco shook his head. "It wasn't me, it was the room."

"The room?" Harry looked around. "Er, I could do with a table," he said. Not a moment after, he spotted a table by the door that he was positive hadn't been there before—three-legged and just the right size to pull up to the couches. Harry went to it and hauled it over.

"What is this place?" Draco asked. "There's no way this is something people know about, otherwise it would be packed."

Harry nodded. "It seems like… it gives you what you ask for."

Draco fell into one of the serpent-green armchairs, tapping his fingers on the wooden armrest. "We've got to test this," he said. "A room that can give you anything you want? That would be amazing."

Harry brought his potions textbook out from his bag and opened it on the table the room had provided for him.

"Come on, Harry, don't tell me you don't care. At least ask for something again. I want to see what the room can do."

Harry frowned, pulling his quills and parchment out.

"A mirror?"

Craning his neck around, Harry saw what Draco was talking about. A mirror stood gold-framed and taller than a man in the shadows behind him, as if it had always stood there.

Draco began to read the inscription at the top, "Erised—"

"_I show you not your face but your heart's desire_," Harry said. "That's what it reads—if you read it backwards."

"How do you know?" Draco asked.

"I've seen it before."

"What does it do? Is it valuable? Is that why you asked the room for it?"

Harry frowned, watching as Draco stood in front of the mirror. His grey eyes widened, turning to look behind him—at Harry—and then back to the mirror. Whatever it was that he saw was enough to make him blush.

"What do you see?" Harry asked.

"N—nothing. Just the mirror."

"No really," Harry said, getting up. "What do you see? I know how the mirror works. It shows you what you desire—what you want most."

Draco flashed a glare at Harry before turning back to his reflection, his mouth slightly open as he watched whatever it was he was seeing play out against the silver surface.

Harry crept up closer, so he stood in front of the mirror with him and the illusion shattered. "What do you see, Draco?"

Draco flinched. "I—Why should I tell you?"

"Aren't we supposed to be friends?" Harry asked. "Friends tell friends what they see in the Mirror of Erised."

Draco looked from Harry's eyes, to the mirror, to the floor. "Alright, fine," he said. "I see…" He took a deep breath. "I see my father and… and he's proud of me." He frowned then and a furious blush grew across his face.

Harry nodded. "That's a good thing to see," he said, but his tone was weighty and his eyes were on the mirror.

Draco stepped back and looked into the mirror's depths, but saw nothing. Harry's expression changed, though, to one of unspeakable sadness. "What is it?" Draco asked. "What do you see?"

"My family," Harry said. "All of them. My parents… grandparents… an aunt and an uncle, maybe a cousin…" He smiled, but it was a miserable expression. "They're all there, behind me."

Draco stepped into the reflection of the mirror, and all the others disappeared from Harry's vision. Harry turned to him, frowning. "Sorry, I shouldn't have asked the room for anything," Harry said.

"Why did you ask for the mirror, anyway?" Draco asked.

Harry shook his head. "I didn't," he said. "I asked for my parents."

* * *

AN: seems to have fixed its pageview counter, which is good, but I still lost two days worth of views. DAMN.

Anyway, thank you all for your continuing support! I now have 47 alerts and 30 faves. The reviews I've been getting are quite kind, too. Thank you! It means a lot!

Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

"You're hopeless," said Draco as he walked with Harry to Potions class. "The topic Snape gave us for that essay was flawlessly simple, and still, you manage to screw it up."

"Whose fault is that?" Harry asked. "You were supposed to be _helping_ me."

Draco rolled his eyes. "There's a difference between helping and giving you all the answers."

Down the corridor, several fourth-year girls that had clustered together to talk turned to stare as they passed by. The attention brought Harry's mouth into a frown. He was used to people talking about him behind his back, but this was different—this was the second or third group of girls they'd passed who'd given him the same reaction, and he didn't even know why.

Draco looked at him and smirked. "So you've begun to notice them, too?"

"Who?"

"The vultures."

Harry looked back to the girls. "Is that what you call them?"

Draco nodded. "I used to get stares once in a while, but whenever I walk with you, they seem to multiply exponentially."

Harry shrugged. "You get used to it eventually."

Draco shook his head. "I used to see people staring at you with looks of admiration—people who didn't even _know_ you. They'd watch you pass by as if you were some kind of _savior_."

"Like I said, you get—"

"No, Harry." Draco stopped, pointing in the direction of the girls they had passed. "The looks they gave you—those were _not_ stares of admiration—those were… Those were Hufflepuffs-after-your-name-came-out-of-the-goblet stares—Those were I-think-you're-the-Heir-of-Slytherin stares."

Harry faltered, looking back down the corridor. The girls had skittered off, but he knew Draco had a point. "I thought they seemed a bit off," he said. "Almost like they were anxious."

"They're scared, Harry. Almost as scared as everyone was in second year when mudbloods started turning to stone and everyone thought it was you."

Harry's eyebrows wove together. "But why?" he asked.

"Sorry to pull your broom out from under you, but it's because you've been seen with me a lot lately. People think I've convinced you to join the Death Eaters, or worse—" He laughed. "They think we're dating."

Harry turned red. "They can't possibly think that," he said.

Draco shrugged. "Believe what you will, but they do."

"Why would… I could understand if they thought you had me under the imperious curse or some such nonsense—we definitely weren't friends before—but why would they jump to _that_ conclusion?" Harry asked.

Draco grinned. "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out, already. Imagine, for a moment, that you are interested in men."

"Er… why?"

"Just do it. Now… contemplate this: If another Yule Ball were to come up, which guy would you want to ask to the dance?"

Harry's eyes flashed, thinking. "You think the answer is… Me? Or you?"

Draco nodded. "We're probably in the top three, yeah. I mean, you're Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived—nothing short of a celebrity—and I'm Draco Malfoy, heir to one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain… not to mention wealthy and attractive."

"And modest," Harry threw in.

"Yes, that too."

Harry rolled his eyes. "So what's your point?"

"My point is that they've thought our intense rivalry has turned into… something more. And it has, to some extent. They're just wrong about how far it's gone."

Harry groaned. "That's the second time this week I've heard people starting rumors like that about me," Harry said. "I don't _look_ gay, do I?"

Draco looked Harry up and down, from his tousled hair to his beat-up Reeboks just under the edge of his cloak. A grim smile plastered itself to Draco's face as he answered: "Not at all."

* * *

Draco and Harry were on step twenty-four of _Salazar's Solution_ when Snape started to make his rounds. Harry couldn't help himself; He had to watch.

Tilting his long nose toward Hermione and Ron's solution, Snape scribbled off something on his parchment and turned to his next victims, never showing any emotion on his face other than annoyance and derision.

When he came upon Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnegan, he laughed, making another quick mark on his paper with his wand.

"Failure again, Longbottom," Snape said. "And Finnegan, I see you've singed your eyebrows off again. Your potions mastery always makes a nice horror story for the first years."

Seamus's face turned a shade of cranberry, but he said nothing.

"I'm sure you are aware that this… copper masterpiece isn't anywhere near the desired silver described in step twenty-five."

"Yes, sir," said both Neville and Seamus.

"Well maybe it didn't occur to you that the copper coloring was demonstrative of poisonous properties? No? You're both lucky indeed that I don't make you ingest the potions you brew. You'd both be dead in the first week."

Draco coughed to Harry's side. "Pay attention, we're almost done."

"What? Oh, right."

Draco looked at him with mingled humor and pity. "It's a wonder you don't have the same reputation as Loony Lovegood—You're so out of it half the time."

Harry scratched at his scar. "Sorry. I just don't like when Snape is bashing my friends all the way to Hogsmeade. What step were we on?"

"Twenty-five now. I just have to add the Basilisk venom. That's why Longbottom's potion was poisonous—he must have forgotten the add the anti-venom first, in step twenty-three."

Harry nodded, knowing more about Basilisk venom than he would've cared to know, but he frowned as Draco added a few drops of the venom and the potion hissed, turning the color of polished gold.

Draco cursed and turned from the potion to Harry, the anger in his eyes quickly fading to resignation.

Snape approached them, stopping at their cauldrons and looking down into them, his dark hair falling around his face.

"A gold potion," he murmured. He stuck his wand into Draco's cauldron and stirred once. When he stood back up, both potions were gone. Snape's mouth was a thin line as he studied the faces of Harry and Draco. Quietly, he said, "I wouldn't have expected something like this with Potter around, but it seems you have surpassed my expectations, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty points to Slytherin."

Draco's eyes widened as Snape scribbled something brief onto his parchment and turned to the rest of the students.

"That will be all for today. I expect for your essays on the qualities of Basilisk venom to be handed in no later than tomorrow." He glided off then, back toward his ironwood desk in the back of the room.

When Harry turned back toward Draco, he realized he had been staring at him. A fire lit the tips of his ears and spread across his cheeks. "What?" he asked, hoping the dim lighting of the dungeon would hide his blush.

"I think… you just screwed up our potion so bad that it was a _good_ thing," Draco said, "and Snape thinks I'm the one who did it."

Harry looked from Draco, to Ron and Hermione, who were by the door, motioning for him to leave with them. "Right, well… Snape doesn't think much of me. It doesn't matter."

"What about the house points? They shouldn't have gone to Slytherin for something _you_ did."

Harry shrugged and hauled his school bag over his shoulder, turning for the door.

Draco caught him by the arm. "Do you want to work on your essay with me tonight? In that room on the seventh floor?"

The request made Harry suspicious, wondering if Draco was up to something. Why else would he go to the trouble of climbing all those stairs? But Harry nodded, impatient to leave with his friends.

"Sure," he answered. "I'll meet you at seven."

* * *

AN: I would like to thank my lovely readers. THAT MEANS YOU. THANK YOU. I now have 54 alerts and 35 faves, which is more than I ever thought I would have. The reviews I've been getting are quite kind as well.

Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.

FYI: Someone asked in a review when there would _actually_ be HP/DM romance in this fanfiction. Here is my answer: It's important to lead into a romance slowly, really build up to it with sexual tension and conflict. If I just had Harry and Draco JUMP on each other the moment they got to school, it wouldn't be very realistic. I'm trying to write a serious fanfiction here. Something that most people consider to be an oxymoron. BUT, in answer to the question... Soon. Not sure exactly how soon, but I'll write it as soon as I can without losing the realism I'm trying to create.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

"It was good you shut up when you did during Defense Against the Dark Arts," Draco said. "She was just looking for an excuse to give you detention." He and Harry strode across a walkway on the seventh floor, looking for the enchanted room that lay hidden across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Harry nodded. "I would've liked to tell her to fuck off… and she could've done with a dungbomb down her throat, but I think then she might've seen it as an excuse to have me carve another message into my hand." He screwed up his face as he said it. "_I must not give Professor Umbridge what she deserves_."

Draco rolled his eyes and tried not to smile. "Let's forget about her. This is it, isn't it? The trolls on Barnabas' tapestry look like they're actually learning something today."

Turning, Harry saw that Draco was right—the trolls looked much more graceful today in their tutus. He walked down the other end of the hall, thinking of the room they had studied in the other day. When had it appeared? He'd spent a bit of time walking down the hall, hadn't he? He turned again and swept past the Barnabas the Barmy tapestry. This time he could feel it.

The doorway's magic had been almost palpable as it appeared. Harry turned on his heel, not hesitating to pull the door open.

"It appears only when you walk past it a couple of times, I think," Harry said to Draco as they stepped through the archway and into the room.

"Listen to yourself, talking like the room likes to hide itself."

Harry's eyebrows ascended into his hairline. "We go to a magical school where the stairs move and the pictures can talk… and you think it's strange that _one room_ likes to be a little more secretive?"

Draco shrugged, dropping his bag onto an ironwood table and falling into the seat of a green chaise lounge. "What are you staring at, Potter?"

"Nothing. Move over. We're working on these essays together, aren't we?"

Draco sighed, his platinum hair glinting in the light of the fire. "Right, right," he said, dropping his legs off the side so he sat facing the table. He took a length of parchment from his bag, inking his quill and beginning his essay. "Let me know if you have any questions."

Gathering his own ink and parchment, Harry shook his head. "I think I'll be alright on this one, actually. Basilisk venom is… something I know a lot about."

Draco's pen froze in his hands. "I'd completely forgotten," he said, lifting his eyes to Harry. "You _fought_ a basilisk, didn't you? That's what everyone said, anyway, when you came back out of the Chamber."

Harry nodded. "I did fight one—if you can call it that. A lot of luck was involved. I almost died—would have, even—if Dumbledore hadn't sent his Phoenix to save me."

"Healing tears," Draco guessed.

"Yeah. When I swung the sword up through the basilisk's head, one of its fangs pierced through my arm, right here." He tapped the place under his cloak where a decent sized scar showed in the right light, and his eyes seemed to darken, thinking of the moment when he had almost died.

Draco scrunched up his nose. "You did all that for the Weasley girl?"

"Ginny," Harry corrected. "And no—though I wasn't about to let my best friend's sister die—I did all that to stop Voldemort. He was the one who'd been controlling the basilisk."

Draco whistled through his teeth, smiling. "They're not kidding when they say the Gryffindors are brave."

"Thanks, Draco."

He shrugged and for a moment Harry thought he saw a faint blush in his face as he turned his eyes back to his paper. They fell into silence, trying to coherently list the properties of basilisk venom, as well as the symptoms upon consumption and injection.

Then, at once, they both reached for the only textbook on the table. Their hands brushed and Harry's face turned a shade of vermilion.

"You use it," he said, not meeting Draco's eyes. "I'll wait."

Draco smiled, pulling the text onto his lap and flipping it open to the desired page. After making a note on his parchment, he passed the text to Harry, who took it without meeting his gaze.

Draco swept his hand over his hair, checking that it was perfectly combed.

"It's unbelievable how arrogant you are," Harry said.

"What are you talking about?" Draco said, not even bothering to look up from his paper.

"You're _grooming_ yourself, even now, when you have no one to impress. It's ridiculous."

"Not everyone can forget to brush their hair in the morning and call it a hairstyle. You're lucky those Gryffindor girls are so stupid."

Harry turned scarlet with anger. "Hermione Granger is smarter than _you_," he said.

Draco rolled his eyes and scoffed, but there was a hard edge to his voice. "She looked at Victor Krum just like all his other mindless fangirls. You know, I actually talked with him when he sat at the Slytherin's table and there's nothing but sawdust in his head. I don't think he's had a single intelligent thought in his whole life."

Harry gaped with his mouth half-open. "Are all Slytherins like you?" he asked.

"How so?"

"Unbelievably conceited."

Draco shrugged. "Only the good-looking ones."

Harry scowled, at a loss for words. "You'd better watch yourself," he finally said. "Maybe you're right that the girls are dumb: They see you, self-proclaimed Slytherin Ice Prince, and they think you're hot—but we're only in school. It's going to take a lot more to cut it in the real world. If you want a witch who's more than just a pretty face, you're going to have to do better than that."

Draco looked up from his paper to meet Harry's gaze, his eyes shining a mix of stormy grey and gold in the firelight.

"What if I'm not interested in a witch?" he asked, his voice so low that Harry could barely be sure he had heard him.

"Ex—Excuse me?"

"You heard me, Potter."

Harry faltered, breaking his gaze to stare at the textbook on the table. He shrugged. "I… I don't know. I guess that's your business."

"Are you sure you don't have an opinion either way?"

Harry looked up and found Draco's face much too close to his, causing his cheeks to flush. He flinched away, raising his hand.

Draco's fingers curled around Harry's wrist, pulling him closer and leaning in to push his lips against Harry's.

As his breath caught in his throat, Harry's face heated to the point where he thought he would combust like a phoenix. Draco's hand brushed against his neck, his ear, his cheek—warm and tightening in locks of his dark hair.

Harry wrenched himself from the kiss and stood, trembling as he stepped backward over the carpet. His fingertips rested on his lips.

Remorse was not what shone in Draco's eyes, but he stayed where he was when Harry turned and left through the door.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help but sigh. "So much for Gryffindor bravery."

* * *

AN: Thanks for the 63 alerts and 41 faves, as well as the many kind reviews I have received.

Please review and **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

Sunlight spilled into the greenhouse, making the air warm and comfortable. Harry rested his head in his hands, only half-listening to Professor Sprout prattle on about some kind of magical weed that he had never heard of. To his right, Hermione was listening with the utmost attention, but Harry couldn't concentrate. He was too busy thinking about the night when Draco had kissed him.

Draco hadn't come to a single one of their classes since it happened. Harry constantly reminded himself that it had only been two days, but still, the anxiety lingered like the sour taste of an earwax flavored jelly bean.

What had happened was wrong—It had to be. It was too paradoxical to be anything _but _wrong. Harry was the Boy Who Lived. Draco was the son of a notorious Death Eater. They were rivals—enemies. There was no way Draco could have actually _wanted_ to kiss him, just as there was no way Draco could ever _want_ him.

Harry's hands tightened on the edge of the table. He had all but resigned himself to the notion that the kiss was some kind of trick, but a part of him wondered… Would Draco go this far? _Could_ Draco go so far as to kiss him—act the way he had—only for a malevolent purpose? Maybe it was Harry's Gryffindor side, but he found himself unable to believe that Draco was capable of moving that far past their rivalry unless…

Harry leaned his head against his hands again. He needed to think like a Slytherin for this—not a Gryffindor—otherwise he was going to go insane.

Still, Draco seemed to have made himself scarce, and as much as Harry appreciated the effort, his absence seemed to make the problem worse. What if Draco really _was_ planning something? Harry had no idea how to prepare himself for their next confrontation.

"Harry, are you feeling alright?" Hermione asked.

"Hmm? Yeah, I'm fine."

"Then pay attention."

Harry grumbled, turning his focus to the lecture.

Professor Sprout smiled as she held up a bell jar so that everyone could see it. It was filled with red tubers. "Who can tell me the properties of Amelia's root?" she asked.

Hermione raised her hand, but someone beat her to it by a fraction of a second.

"Yes… um, I'm sorry, dear. Your name?"

"Evan Prince."

All eyes turned to the student: A male Slytherin with layered black hair and pale skin. His hawk-like nose and dark eyes gave him a predatory look that was almost alarming.

Murmurs broke out amongst the students. Pointed whispered like, "Who's that?" "I don't remember him coming to class before," and "If he's new, then I definitely call him," rang out audibly.

Evan smirked as a couple Hufflepuff girls giggled in the back of the class. "In answer to your question," he said, addressing Professor Sprout, "Amelia's root can be used in salves to treat most burns, but when it hasn't been ground up properly, it is incredibly flammable."

Professor Sprout nodded. "Yes, very good, Mr. Prince. Five points to Slytherin." She gave the bell jar a little shake in her hand. "Now, can anyone tell me where this root can be found?"

Evan's hand beat Hermione's once again.

"Yes, Mr. Prince?"

"Amelia's root only grows naturally in the Canary Islands, but the root is grown domestically all over Europe."

"Correct, Mr. Prince. Another five points to Slytherin."

"There is only one root that can be used in substitution for Amelia's. Does anyone—Ah, Mr. Prince again?"

"Helga's root," Evan answered, "named for Helga Hufflepuff, who discovered it, and also helped found Hogwarts."

Professor Sprout beamed. "Another ten points to Slytherin."

Hermione turned bright red in the face and Evan aimed a smug smile in her direction. Professor Sprout didn't seem to notice.

* * *

"Excuse me, um… _Prince_, did you say your name was?"

"What?" Evan turned, expecting to find one of the Hufflepuff girls who had seemed interested in him during class. Instead, he found that it was Hermione who had followed him out of the greenhouse. He eyed her with a look of distaste.

Hermione's cheeks turned pink. "You should give other people the chance to answer questions every once in a while," she said.

Evan narrowed his eyes. "As if _you've_ ever given anyone that decency. I knew you were a know-it-all, but I didn't realize you were an attention whore. I guess I shouldn't be surprised." He scoffed. "If you're as smart as everyone says, maybe you'll learn to think before opening your mouth and embarrassing your house with your hypocrisy." He turned, then, striding off toward the castle. In the battle of wits, he had won… for now.

* * *

That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat around the fire in the common room, writing essays on the differences and similarities between Amelia and Helga's root. Anyone who might've glanced over would've assumed that they were all doing well, but the truth was that they were all suffering in their own personal hells.

"Harry," Ron said, his face pale, "you know my brother, Percy, right?"

"Yeah?"

"He sent me a letter… er, this morning, telling me that I should break off ties with you… because the ministry is about to be more involved at Hogwarts."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "You're not going to, right?"

"No… no, er, of course not."

They met each others' eyes and Harry frowned. "Do whatever you have to, Ron."

"Nah, mate, I didn't mean it like that, I swear! I'm just… nervous, is all. I mean, what do you think he means when he says more involvement by the ministry?"

"Dunno."

"You guys don't think I'm an attention whore, do you?" Hermione asked. She didn't seem to have even registered their prior conversation.

Ron's expression tightened with concern. "What? Why? Why do you ask?"

Hermione sighed. "That boy—Evan Prince—I went up to him after Herbology and told him to lay off so other people besides his smug self could answer some of Professor Sprout's questions. He called me a hypocrite… said I was being an attention whore."

"Aw, no way, Hermione. We need you to answer all those questions—otherwise Gryffindor wouldn't gain any house points besides the ones that Harry always manages to win at the end of each year."

Harry's eyes flicked up from his parchment, remembering someone else saying something very similar. He looked from Hermione to Ron and plunged into unsafe territory. "What should I do if someone comes on to me and I don't know how I feel about it?" he asked.

Ron smirked. "Did Romilda Vane finally work up enough courage to ask you out?"

"What? No. Who's Romilda Vane?" The name sounded familiar to Harry, but as hard as he tried, he couldn't put a face to the name. "Forget it, it doesn't matter," he said, waving off Ron's response. "It was… er, some Slytherin girl," Harry said. "I don't even know her."

"Is she hot?"

"That doesn't _help_, Ron," Hermione said. "Harry, if you _might_ be interested, couldn't you just go on a couple of dates and see how it goes?"

"Yeah, mate. Give her a test run."

"_Ron_!" Hermione gave him a scathing look. "Harry, you should just do what feels right. If you don't like her, then forget it. If you do… then maybe something magical will happen."

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! There will be more Harry/Draco in the next installment!

Anyone have a guess as to what _Evan Prince_ is up to? ;) If you haven't already guessed, more will be revealed later.

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	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

Crabbe and Goyle sat across from Draco, snickering to each other as he picked at his breakfast, but they weren't the only ones he shared his company with: Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson also sat around him, chatting it up amongst the clamor of the great hall. Blaise waved off some notion and Draco smiled, though his eyes were inclined toward the table—his silver-blonde hair falling in strands across his brow. Then Theo said something that was crude enough to send the whole group up in laughter. The whole time, Pansy never took her eyes off of Draco, and an admiring smile pinched her olive-skinned cheeks.

"Harry!"

Looking up, Harry realized he'd been so busy staring, he hadn't even realized that Hermione was trying to get him to look at the _Daily Prophet_.

"What is it?" he asked, seeing how red she had become in the face.

"Just read it," she said, passing him the front page. "This is so much worse than we thought."

Harry took it and read, seeing immediately what Hermione was so riled up about. The front headline struck him the second his eyes lighted on the paper—_Dolores Umbridge Appointed First-Ever "High Inquisitor"._ Harry skimmed the rest of the page, too angry to even comprehend it.

"High Inquisitor," he said. "What does that even mean?"

"It's a position at the school," Hermione said in a low voice. "The ministry has given her the power to institute school rules, hold teacher inspections, and fire any who she doesn't deem _fit_ to teach." She laughed, but didn't smile. "I can already see her itching to abuse this. Just be glad Hagrid is out recruiting the giants. It means she can't fire him."

Harry nodded, but wasn't really listening. He felt foolish for thinking about Draco Malfoy at a time like this, but he couldn't stop. It was driving him crazy, not knowing what he was thinking—watching him from across the house tables, half hoping he wouldn't look over and notice and half hoping he would, just because he thought it might illicit some sort of reaction—something that would explain to him the details of what had happened the other night.

He reached into his bag, pulling out a piece of parchment and scribbling a note at the table—covering what he wrote with his hand so anyone nearby wouldn't see. The owls had already come and gone for post, but he could still send Draco a message. With students like the Weasley twins running around, it wasn't all that surprising that Harry knew how to enchant a paper airplane.

When he'd written what he'd wanted to, the parchment rose up above the table, spiraling around a bit over their heads and down the length of the Ravenclaw table before finishing off with a barrel roll into Draco's lap.

Harry watched him look up and around as his hands unfolded the parchment. He knew Draco would look his way, but that's what he was counting on.

Draco's eyes flickered down the note and up, straight into Harry's eyes. He nodded once, but his expression stayed unreadable.

Harry looked away, then, back toward Hermione and his plate—the faintest of smiles curling the corners of his mouth.

* * *

By the time evening rolled around, Harry had lost any trace of confidence he might've had after his small victory of contacting Draco. Instead, his insides were filled with a squirming panic similar to that of just before battling the Hungarian Horntail.

"Alright, I guess I'll see you later, Hermione," he said, standing to head toward the portrait hole. "I'm off to meet Malfoy for Potions."

"Malfoy hasn't been in Potions class all week," Hermione said.

Harry paled, but caught himself. "Yeah, that's why I'm going. I have to help him catch up."

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"And… he'll be able to explain to me the potions we _did_ do while he was out of class," Harry said, turning away so she wouldn't see the color of his face.

* * *

Harry wavered outside of the room across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. He hadn't had any trouble finding it this time, which was a shame in his opinion. Any excuse to stall for time was fine by him.

His heart was racing a thousand miles a minute. The ball of tightened nerves in his chest was exhausting him. He tried to remember—had he been this anxious when he faced against Voldemort the first time? Maybe Draco was right and the Gryffindors were reckless and not brave at all. Why was he so nervous?

Harry shook himself, trying to snap himself out of his fear. What was he so scared of? This was… this was _Draco Malfoy_, not something that… not something that could hurt him… right?

Taking a deep breath, Harry steadied himself and strode toward the door, tugging it open with a shaking hand. It was only when he stood inside the room, amongst the mixed Gryffindor and Slytherin décor, with the fire blazing in the grate and Malfoy lounging against the cushions of the loveseat, that his fears became clear.

It wasn't that Draco Malfoy could hurt him. It was that he could do so much worse.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! The cliffhanger is to KEEP YOU ON EDGE. ;)

If you were hoping for more Evan Prince, he will probably show up again in the next chapter... if not, the one after.

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	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Harry stepped into the room, his hand hesitating on the doorknob as he closed it quietly behind himself. The crackling of the fire seemed loud in the silence, but to Harry his heart seemed even louder. Draco watched him from the loveseat, the firelight flickering in his silver eyes and illuminating the curve of his jaw—the upturn of his smile. Taking a deep breath, Harry assured himself that his nervousness was over nothing and said, "I'm glad you came."

Draco rolled his shoulders in a lofty shrug, a smile stretching across his features. "Well you _are_ the Boy Who Lived. I think anyone would've."

Fire spread across Harry's cheeks as he realized the innuendo. Why would… Did Draco know what he was saying? Harry shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to remember the carefully formulated plan of action he had thought up before he entered the room. It seemed to have run away from him, and now he was struggling to remember whom he was dealing with—let alone what he was going to do next.

"Come—have a seat," Draco said, pointing to the cushion next to him. "You seemed eager to talk."

Harry sat. "Yeah, er—"

"I'm glad you made the next move, though. I wasn't sure how I was going to convince you to meet me again."

Harry stared at Draco, confusion—and maybe an edge of anxiety—in his eyes.

"Oh, don't look so scandalized, Potter. We both know you've been thinking about me all week."

"Excuse me? I haven't been—" Harry shook his head. "Draco—"

"What?"

Draco's voice had that low, sensual quality to it again. Harry was instantly reminded of when he'd kissed him. _What if I'm not interested in a witch?_ The words hung heavy like a poison in the air—closing around Harry's mind and making his breathing hard. It took everything he had to look into Draco's eyes with an impassive expression and answer.

"I just… I want to know what happened the other night," Harry said. "I just want to know what's going on."

A smile spread across Draco's lips, much softer than the smile Harry usually saw, and he reached up his hand to lay it against the crook of Harry's neck. "You look _like a nervous wreck_," he said, "and still… I want you."

Harry felt the back of his throat go dry as Malfoy reached up his other hand to stroke the line of his cheek.

"But then again, I always have."

Draco leaned in then, tilting his face to press his lips against his, but Harry was ready for him. His hand reached out tentatively, caressing the curve of Draco's waist and pulling him closer. His other hand cupped Draco's cheek—stroking the sharp features he had always admired.

Entangled, Harry felt Draco twine his fingers up through his hair, twisting with desire. He felt Draco enter his mouth, and he felt the heat rising from Draco's body.

Harry breathed hard, but didn't try to break free. He needed this. He wanted this. Besides the moments of passion that ripped through his mind, his train of thought was unanimous: Why had this taken so long?

* * *

When they finally slowed and lay panting on the loveseat—which seemed to have grown to accompany their needs—the gravity of the situation hit Harry full force. Draco rested on top of him, his lips buried close enough to his ear that he felt a nibble every so often.

"Hermione thinks I'm helping you make up potions work," Harry said.

Draco laughed once, harshly. "If she's half as smart as everyone thinks she is, then she doesn't actually think that."

"But that's what I told her."

"Then you should lie better next time."

Harry looked up into Draco's eyes, for Draco had arisen to stare at him. "Next time?" Harry asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, _next time_. That's generally what people interested in each other do—they make a point to see each other."

"But…"

"But what, Potter?" Draco's eyes had turned threatening. His grip tightened on the back of Harry's hair.

"This is… this isn't right," Harry said. "You're the son of a Death Eater. I'm the Boy Who Lived. You're Slytherin—I'm Gryffindor. You're—"

"I'm bad, you're good? Is that what you were going to say?"

"No." Harry touched Draco's cheek, trying to make him understand. "I'm just… worried what people would think… if they found out."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're into_ wizards_ and you think your _choice_ in wizard is going to be the problem? You're mad. Completely mad."

Harry frowned. "Try to take this a little more seriously, Draco," he said. "People are counting on me. They're going to think I've been… I don't know, _corrupted_."

"Maybe you have been."

Harry nudged him, which only caused Draco's smirk to widen, but even that didn't last long. His expression sobered up fast at the contemplative look Harry was giving him.

"So what's it going to be?" Draco said. "Is that it, then? The most anticipated relationship in all of Hogwarts history comes to an end before it's even begun?"

Harry half-smiled. "There's no way we're the most anticipated—"

Draco cut him off with a kiss—slow and pleading. "I don't want this to be the end," he said, his voice quiet again. His eyes filled with intermingled hope and despair.

Harry's chest tightened, knowing Draco's wants were in line with his own. Taking up Draco's chin in his hand, he brushed his thumb across his lower lip. "Don't worry," he said. "It won't be."

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! Hope you liked the chapter! **Feel free to leave me a review!** The continuation of the Evan Prince storyline will have to wait until the next chapter.

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	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

"What do you think Snape's up to?" Ron asked the next day, through a mouth full of corned beef and potatoes. "He hasn't been in his seat since last Tuesday."

Indeed, when Harry looked up at the staff table, Snape was nowhere to be found. His absence, in earlier years, would have been one to arouse suspicion, but now Harry found himself rather preoccupied, staring every so often across the heads of the students at the Ravenclaw table to admire Draco from afar, watching him smile in that very satisfied, Slytherin sort of way as one of the other Slytherins told a joke. Harry saw now, with clearer perception, the way in which Theo, Blaise, and the other Slytherins tried to win his favor—his approval. Pansy, in particular, seemed to be interested in the Malfoy heir. Every time Harry's gaze flickered over to the Slytherin table, he saw that Pansy's dark eyes lingered on Draco from under her lashes.

With a fervent desire, Harry suddenly wished he had taken up on the Sorting Hat's offer and placed into Slytherin, just so he could've gotten his hands on Draco first.

"Are either of you even listening to me?"

Harry looked up, his cheeks flushing.

Ron dropped his fork clattering onto his plate and stood from the table. "I'm sick of being ignored," he said. "I know Hermione's infatuated herself with that Prince kid, but I thought I could count on you, at least."

"Ron—Ron, wait—!" Harry called to him, but his best mate had already stridden off and out of the Great Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.

Harry sighed, turning back to Hermione, who looked like someone had thrown a house elf off of the Astronomy tower. "Did you hear anything of what he was trying to tell us?" Harry asked.

"No." Hermione leaned her face into her palms. "He's right. I've gone completely irrational over this guy."

"Evan Prince? The one from Herbology?"

"He's in our Defense Against the Dark Arts class, too," Hermione said. "It wouldn't surprise me if he started showing up to all our classes. I've decided that his only purpose in life is to try and one-up me in every class. Slytherin's gained sixty points this week, if you hadn't noticed—points that should have been ours."

Harry heard the hard edge of her tone and flinched inwardly. If he were Prince, he definitely wouldn't want to get on Hermione's bad side. "Why don't you talk to him?" he suggested.

"I already did. He was anything but amiable, if you remember."

"Well… try again. Maybe you caught him on a bad day," Harry said, but by then he was distracted. Draco and his friends were getting up, leaving the table, but Draco's eyes were on Harry. A couple smooth words out of his mouth and all the others were laughing. But Harry's heart plunged into his stomach, because Pansy's gaze shot across the room and into him like a volley of arrows, freezing his insides.

Had Draco said something about him? Theo and Blaise weren't looking his way. Malfoy, too, didn't seem to have noticed the exchange. Before Harry could put it off to paranoia, Pansy gave one last glare over her shoulder, as if to tell Harry to back off. Harry had to stop himself from rising to his feet. It was only Hermione's voice that brought him back to his senses.

"Harry, are you listening?"

"Hmm?"

"Merlin… Ron's right, you're useless. This is _important_, Harry."

"What, Evan Prince?"

"Did you hear _anything_ I said to you just now?"

Harry shook his head, eyes widening at Hermione's tone.

"Come on—the walls have ears. I'll explain to you in the common room."

* * *

Once they got through the portrait hole (the password was Taproot) Hermione pulled Harry into an alcove away from the chairs of the fire, so they wouldn't be overheard.

"What—?"

Hermione held up a hand, taking a deep breath. When it seemed she had settled her nerves, she said, "Alright, so Ron and I have decided that this whole Ministry-approved Defense Against the Dark Arts class just isn't going to cut it, especially not with, well, you know, _Voldemort_ back on the rise… and we've decided that something should be done about it."

Harry stared out at her from behind his glasses. "What did you have in mind?" he asked.

"We want to have our own DA class. One where we actually learn spells and practice them, so that when the time comes… we'll know how to fight."

They stared at each other, both knowing how important it was to know how to combat dark magic.

"Alright, I'm in," said Harry. "I think it's a great idea—beating Umbridge at her own game."

"Um, and one more thing," said Hermione.

Harry noticed she wasn't quite looking him in the eye. "What?" he asked.

"Well, um, we hoped that maybe… _you_ could teach the class."

A silence settled between them in which Harry looked at Hermione as if she's suggested he become Pansy Parkinson's best friend. "No," he said.

"Oh, come on, Harry! You just said a minute ago that you were all for it!"

"No. I'm not going to."

"Well, why not?" A scowl settled into Hermione's features.

"Don't act like you don't know," Harry said, mimicking her expression. "People will come to the class, all right, but it won't be to learn. They'll all want to ask about Cedric and… you know, I'm just… I don't want to talk about him."

Hermione's mouth thinned, but her eyes were sympathetic. "It'll be okay, Harry," she said. "Ron and I will tell them to only come if they only want to learn. People won't ask questions." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Just think about it, okay?"

She stood from the table, then, and left Harry to his thoughts.

* * *

AN: Thanks for reading! And thank you for the 88 alerts, 60 faves, and almost 11,000 hits in three months!

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	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

Harry snapped his potions text shut and looked to Draco, only half-listening to what Professor Snape was saying as the other students filed out of the classroom.

"You busy?" Draco asked, inclining his head toward him.

Harry felt a wave of heat break through him. His fingers tightened over the edge of the table as he stood, meeting Draco's smirk. "Are you thinking the Room of Requirement?"

"I'm thinking you, me, and the Room of Requirement."

Draco's face was inches from his. Harry swallowed, but knew it would have to wait. They were in a public place. There were still witnesses.

Harry noticed with a start that Pansy was crossing the room toward them, edging her way between cauldrons and desks. He grabbed Draco's arm, gesturing for him to see what he saw.

"Pansy," Draco drawled. "How lovely of you to enamor us with your presence."

The pug-faced girl stood with her hands on her hips and aimed a glare. "Don't be smart, Draco," she said. "You're fraternizing with the enemy. What would your father say about this?"

Draco pursed his lips together, looking down on Pansy from the bridge of his nose. "What would _your_ father think of _you_ trying to tell a Malfoy what to do?"

Pansy's eyes widened, but then her face contorted into a scowl. "What the fuck, Draco. Are you trying to start a blood feud?"

Draco heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes. "Would you excuse me, Harry?"

"What? But—"

"Just wait for me, okay?"

Harry looked from Draco to Pansy and back again, feeling color rise to his face. "Fine," he said, swinging his bag over his shoulders. He didn't look back as he departed from the potions classroom.

* * *

It was almost a half-hour later when Draco swept through the door of the Room of Requirement. Harry had waited for him, staring into the fire from the loveseat, which seemed to have grown a bit to better accommodate two.

When Harry met Draco's eyes he saw that the Slytherin was breathing harder than usual. Harry sat bolt upright on the cushions. "Did you and Pansy…?" Was it his imagination, or did Draco's hair look ruffled?

"What?" Draco read Harry's expression and scowled. "Harry, I ran up the stairs. That's all."

"Your clothes look rumpled. They never look rumpled."

Draco threw his head back with a laugh. "Harry, listen," he said. "Pansy and I got in a fight. Not that I'd like to admit it, but she shoved me over a desk."

"I have a hard time believing that."

Draco dropped his bag to the floor unceremoniously and strode toward the loveseat, leaning toward Harry. "Would I lie to you, Potter?"

Harry grabbed the Slytherin tie around Draco's neck and pulled him closer—Barely centimeters apart. He could feel his presence like heat off a fire. "Probably, yeah," Harry answered. "Every ounce of intelligence I have is telling me that being here with you is a mistake."

"Can't be many ounces, can it?" Draco smirked and grabbed Harry's thighs, moving closer. "You worry too much," he said. "You can trust me."

Harry scoffed. "Says the son of a Death Eater."

Draco half-smiled and moved in, kissing Harry lightly once, then with more passion. His hands crept up, burrowing into his hair and whispering down his back. Draco pushed Harry back into the cushions, kissing him with a feverish need, surprising him when he worked in his tongue, and even more so when his hand slid down the curve of Harry's back, and even lower.

Harry gasped, causing Draco to snicker.

"You are such a virgin, Potter…"

"I didn't mean _stop_."

Draco half-smiled, pressing his lips against Harry's again.

Harry interrupted him with a question. "Did you tell her?" he asked.

Draco stopped, staring at him. "Tell who what?"

"Pansy… about us."

Draco's lips tightened together. "Was I supposed to?"

"No."

"You know she'll find out eventually. They all will."

Harry's brow furrowed in a way that crinkled his scar. "I know," he said. "I just… not yet. I don't want them to know yet."

"Fair enough."

"Wait," Harry said. Draco had started to kiss him again.

The Slytherin growled. "What?" he said.

"I just want to say something. Can't you wait five minutes?"

"No."

Harry gave him a look.

"Fine, alright. What were you saying?"

"I think Pansy already knows about us, regardless of whether you've mentioned it to her or not—"

"I haven't."

"Fine, but she _knows_."

"What's your point? We've established that Hermione knows, too, but that doesn't mean we have to interrupt a perfectly good make-out session to—"

"She gives me _looks_, Draco… and if you're telling the truth, she pushed you over a desk."

"I _am_ telling the truth. How many fucking times do I have to say it?"

"Well, you're not exactly a _Hufflepuff_. Slytherin's aren't known for their honesty, Draco."

"Have you ever _met_ a Hufflepuff? If Ernie Macmillan is _half_ as honest as I am, I'll eat the Sorting Hat."

"Do you even _know_ Ernie Macmillan?" Harry asked.

"Probably better than you'd think," Draco said with a sneer. "He's a tenth generation pure-blood."

Harry's eyes widened.

"Yeah, I wouldn't have believed it either if my Father hadn't told me," Draco said. "He plays wizarding chess with Ernie's father on the third of every month."

Harry exhaled through his teeth. "I always forget how disconnected I am from the wizarding world," he said.

"That's what you get for being the Boy Who Lived," Draco said with a sneer. "You save their entire world and they thank you by dropping you off with some peasant Muggles."

"Yeah, well…" Harry frowned.

"I'd invite you to my place for Christmas, but you can imagine how that might end badly."

Harry nodded, half-smiling at how ludicrous the thought seemed, but his expression darkened just as quickly remembering their prior conversation topic. "Pansy knows about us," he said, "and she's violent."

"I can handle her," Draco said.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, imploring him with his eyes. "She could be dangerous… She could tell the whole school, or… she could tell Voldemort."

Draco's expression froze, and his confident smile vanished. He looked to Harry with fear in his eyes.

"That's how I felt, too," Harry said.

"I don't think… There's no way Pansy would do that… Her father… Her family isn't affiliated with the Dark Lord the way mine is—"

Harry raised his eyebrows, but Draco continued as if he hadn't noticed.

"She doesn't have any reason to try and get me killed, she's just jealous you've grabbed my attention. She and I used to have a thing… last year. I made it very clear at the end of the summer that I didn't want to see her again as anything other than a friend—"

"But she pushed you over a desk. Draco, I think you should talk to her."

"I have," Draco said. "That's what we talked about today. You're lucky I didn't have to go to Madam Pomfrey's before I came here. I think Pansy's father must have bought her boxing lessons or something."

Harry grinned.

"I'm serious," Draco said.

"Oh." Harry didn't know how to respond to that.

Draco shrugged. "She's not the worst I've had to deal with."

Harry looked to him, trying to read his eyes. "You, er, want to talk about it?"

A laugh broke from Draco's lips. He smoothed his hair back with one hand. "I'd rather just make out," he said.

"We're going to have to talk about it at some point," Harry said.

Draco held his eyes for a long moment. Finally, he looked away, answering, "Have it your way, Potter."

* * *

AN: To my 97 watchers, thank you so much for sticking with me this far. If anyone was wondering why I hadn't updated in three weeks, the answer is midterms and original writing. Though I do enjoy the feedback I get from all of you, fanfiction is nowhere near my number one priority. Nonetheless, I'll probably update twice this week, to make up for the lack of updates in the past three weeks. Here's to almost 100 pages of fanfiction! fml

Thanks again to all who helped me achieve 97 alerts, 64 faves, and 13,000 hits in three months!

Please **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

* * *

Draco smirked, staring into the fire. "My father beat me when I was eight; my twin sister sexually assaulted me when I was ten; and before Hogwarts, I had never known the true meaning of friendship." He turned to Harry, who was watching him with wide eyes, and laughed. "Relax, Potter. Did you really expect me tell you my entire tragic back-story all at once?"

Realizing his error, Harry scowled. "That's not funny, Draco. Some people really _have_ gone through all that."

"Have you?" Draco's brow furrowed.

Harry shook his head. "No, but that doesn't mean you can just _joke_ about those kinds of things."

"I never said it was all a joke."

"Then it is true?" Harry's expression sobered up quickly.

Draco shook his head. "It's a third true. I'll let you guess which parts are lies."

Harry tightened his lips. "I don't think, er, well… I _hope_ you don't have that kind of sister."

"You're right," Draco said. "I wouldn't be half as attractive if I was competing for rights to the Malfoy throne. I'm the only heir."

"So did your father… er…" Harry looked down toward the floor.

"No, Harry. My father didn't beat me. Well… not when I was that young. Ever since the Dark Lord came back, he's been more easily provoked to that kind of thing, but I'm fast—I should be, considering I'm Slytherin Seeker. I generally get out of the way before he can get a swipe in."

"So the one that's true is—"

"No friends until Hogwarts."

Harry stared at him with wide eyes. "But all the other Slytherins look up to you. They wait for your approval. They—"

"It can't be _that_ hard to believe, can it?" Draco asked. "I grew up inside Malfoy Manor with only the servants and tutors my parents hired for company. I saw other children very rarely. You can be sure that my parents didn't send _me_ to a Muggle primary school." He frowned. "I almost would have preferred they had."

Harry stared at him with his jaw half-open. "You can't mean that," he said. "You hate Muggles!"

Draco shrugged. "What do I even know about Muggles? When I was younger, I thought spiting Muggles would make me friends. It worked for my father… It works for Slytherins. It brings us all together—unifies us. And after a while, you sort of forget that you don't know why you hate Muggles. You hate them because everyone else hates them. You say you hate them because it comes naturally after hearing other people say it so often."

Harry held his head in his hands and said, "I can't believe Hermione's not here to hear this. She wouldn't believe it."

"Anyway, you're the reason I started reconsidering about all this anti-Muggle propaganda that the pureblood families put out—When you snubbed me, on the first day of school."

Harry looked at him, just about ready to believe that Draco would say he wanted to marry the giant squid next.

"You're also the reason I was such a prick to your friends," Draco said. "I couldn't stand it—that you picked them over me. I thought about it all the time. I almost failed Potions, I was so miserable. I would have, too, if Snape hadn't been so generous with his scaling."

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"After a while, I realized that things weren't going to change if I didn't do anything about them—I couldn't just stay unhappy forever. So I put everything I had into making friends—not only gaining their loyalty, as I had with Crabbe and Goyle, but also gaining their respect. I even tried my hand at cracking a few jokes every once in a while. Apparently, I'm quite funny."

"You are," Harry said. "Who told you that, Blaise? He smiles a lot when you talk."

Draco smirked. "I knew you watched me across the Great Hall."

"Only sometimes," Harry said. "Okay, maybe more than sometimes."

Draco hooked his hand around the back of Harry's neck and tilted his head to meet Harry's lips, inhaling sharply through his nose, as if he wished to inhale Harry's very essence.

Harry felt his head spinning, but he reciprocated, meeting Draco's lips, sighing as his tongue entered. One hand curled around Draco's neck, and the other weaved up into his otherwise perfectly styled platinum hair.

"I believe you still owe me a back-story," Draco said, pulling away.

Harry shook his head, his eyes troubled. "Draco… kiss me one more time," he said. "Just once more—and then I'll tell you."

Draco took Harry's face in his hands and brought it close to his. Their lips brushed together, so softly that a part of Harry would have folded in upon itself and died if Draco hadn't then followed through. His lips meshed with Harry's, kissing with such a tender passion that Harry felt devastated by the contact alone.

"How do you do that?" he asked, gasping as Draco broke away from him.

Draco smirked, but didn't answer. "Your past," he said. "I want to know it. Now." He looked Harry up and down. "I want it like I want you."

Harry smiled, but looked down to the thick carpet that covered the floor. "I don't know if I—"

Draco took his hand, squeezing it. "I'm not going to judge you."

Harry closed his eyes, furrowing his brow. "I… Since my parents died, I've lived in my Aunt and Uncle's house… They made me sleep in the cupboard under the stairs until I was eleven; they've never fed me properly, not even now, when I go home for the summers; and I didn't know what having friends was like until Hogwarts, either." He opened his eyes, slowly, and looked toward Draco.

"You're joking about the cupboard, right?" Draco asked.

"When someone asks me for my back-story, I don't tell them something that's only a third true."

"Harry…" Draco looked pained. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

Harry shrugged. "Not many people do. It's probably for the best. I don't think people would like to imagine Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, as some kind of neglect victim."

"But everything's alright, now, isn't it?"

Harry stared at the fire a long time. When he finally answered, he said, "Yeah. Everything's fine, Draco. Hogwarts was my happy ending… I just have trouble forgetting the past."

* * *

AN: HAPPY CHAPTER TWENTY! Shit, I never thought I would spend this much time on a fanfiction. It's almost tragic. +100 pages.

Thank you all so much for 103 alerts, 70 faves, and 14,000 hits in three months!

Please **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.

As for all the crazy banter/backstory, I hope you all are aware that I'm fabricating this and it is not canon.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

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"So I take it Hermione told you about the… _you know_…"

Harry nodded, following Ron out of Charms class. Students from all four houses bustled around them as they strode down the corridor. "A couple nights ago," Harry said. "But I told her that I didn't want to do it—not after Cedric…" His throat tightened and he found that he couldn't continue.

Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder, his smile fading. "Cedric would've wanted us to do everything we could," he said.

"Yeah." Harry turned away from him, taking off his glasses to wipe his eyes as they rounded a corner.

"Harry…" Ron looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he didn't. Shaking his head, he said, "Hermione wants us to meet during the trip to Hogsmeade. She's already started telling people."

"What?" Harry stopped mid-step, a furious look crossing his face. "I _never_ told her that I was okay with this."

"Well, are you?"

"No… Maybe. I don't know." Harry pushed his hand through his hair. "The idea itself is brilliant, but I just know that everyone who shows up is only going to come so they can ask me about… _him_."

"They'll surprise you, mate. Just give them a chance. I've been talking to Neville and Luna and they seem pretty determined about it. They definitely wouldn't bother you about Cedric."

"Yeah… I don't know. Maybe you're right, Ron. I guess I'll see you in Transfiguration. I've got to head back to the dormitory—forgot my textbook."

Ron nodded and headed off down the corridor, disappearing between a flock of Slytherins and a cluster of Ravenclaws. Turning to head in the other direction, Harry found himself face to face with Pansy Parkinson.

"Fancy meeting you here, Potter," she said with a sneer. "And alone. I thought for sure you would be with _Draco_."

Harry frowned, looking for the groups of students he had just seen Ron step through. They were nowhere to be found. "I don't have time for this, Pansy," he said, trying to sidestep her.

She pulled her wand out and held it to his throat like the tip of a dagger. "Oh, I think you do have time for this, Potter. What the fuck do you think you're doing with Draco Malfoy?"

Harry looked down at Pansy's wand and back up to her face. "Do you think I'm scared of you, Pansy?" he asked. "I've dueled _Voldemort_—" She cringed at the name. "—The Dark Lord, himself. Do you really think you can intimidate me?"

"What, the _fuck_, are you doing with Draco Malfoy?" she demanded, pressing her wand so hard against him that it hurt.

"Fuck—Pansy, back off! Nothing! It's none of your fucking business what I do or don't do with Draco Malfoy," Harry said. "He made it clear that he was through with you."

Pansy's lips curled back in a snarl. "We'll see about that, Potter. We'll fucking see. You don't think Draco will be crawling back to me with a couple of well-placed potions—a couple of spells? You're wrong, Potter. Draco is _mine_."

Harry's eyes widened and his hand flew to his throat as she withdrew, striding away down the corridor. If Pansy wasn't bluffing—and Harry had a feeling she wasn't as he watched her retreat—then Draco had completely underestimated her. She was dangerous—unstable, even. He had to warn him.

Sprinting down the corridor, Harry took a left at the stairs and began to descend. He wasn't sure how he would gain access to the Slytherin common room or how he would explain to Draco what had just happened. Hopefully the bruise on his neck would be enough.

It was as he ran past the entrance to Snape's dungeon that he skidded to a stop, hearing Hermione's voice through the cracked door of a classroom.

"Look, Evan… I know it must feel strange to… to consider a relationship with a Gryffindor—"

"That's not it."

"Then what is it? What's the problem? Why do you keep saying we can't we be together?"

"We just can't."

Harry shuffled forward, angling his gaze through the crack so he could just see Hermione and Evan Prince on the other side of the abandoned classroom.

"Is your father a Death Eater? Is that it?"

Prince exhaled through his nose. "No," he said. "My father is a Muggle."

"Then is it your mother?"

"It has nothing to do with my _family_—"

"Then I don't understand," Hermione said. "Why _shouldn't_ we be together?"

"Hermione—"

"Is this some kind of joke to you?"

"_Hermione_—"

"Don't _Hermione_ me!"

Hermione threw herself at him, then, drawing Evan into a kiss. Harry turned away from the sight, but ran from the door, hearing a shuffling from inside the room, so that they wouldn't realize he'd been eavesdropping.

Prince exited the classroom glaring and stopped only when he saw Harry. "What are _you_ looking at, Potter?" he said, and swept away down the hall in a whirl of black cloak. Harry was left standing speechless, feeling his gut sink into the stone floor as he heard Hermione call for Prince to come back.

* * *

AN: Thank you all so much for 122 alerts, 74 faves, and 16,000 hits in four months! (Sorry for the wait on this one. was glitching and not letting me upload the story last week.)

Please **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates.


	22. Chapter 22

AN: Hey guys! Long time no see! I know I haven't updated in about five weeks, but hey! What're you gonna do?

Anyway, telling you all now that I'll be returning to my updates:

Probably once a week until July, when I will be participating in CAMP National Novel Writing Month and writing a (very sexy) novel in one month.

For now (until I update, maybe this weekend) please enjoy this SUMMARY of the last twenty-one chapters, to refresh your memory of what's happened.

Thanks again for +20K hits, 137 alerts, 80 faves, and 96 reviews! Love you guys!

* * *

_Summary of the First Twenty-One Chapters_

* * *

TEoME is the backstory of _The Order of the Phoenix_ you always wanted, with more legitimate angst and a romance so intense, it has all of Hogwarts talking.

* * *

When Draco promised he would do one thing his mother asked, he never assumed she would want him to befriend the Boy Who Lived—but with Lord Voldemort on the rise and gathering followers by the hour, Harry Potter begins to seem like Draco's only chance for salvation. Nonetheless, Draco soon realizes that trying to turn the tables on an age-old rivalry is more difficult than he thought it would be—Harry doesn't want to trust him, no matter how close they get in Potions class. Only through a bizarre twist of fate do Harry and Malfoy find themselves permanent potions partners, and only then does Malfoy gain the proximity to notice the scars Ron and Hermione were too blind to see. It turns out that Harry's been struggling with problems of his own—from the prejudices of his cynical classmates to the tragic memory of Cedric's death. Soon enough, Draco begins to prove himself a true friend in a time when Harry felt most alone. But that's not the end of Harry's troubles—Rumors have begun to spread through Hogwarts: First, about an affair between him and Ron Weasley, and then—even worse—that Harry and _Draco_ are dating—all untrue, of course, but that doesn't stop the vultures from circling.

Regardless, Harry denies how close he's grown to Draco up to the very last moment, in which the Slytherin pushes him beyond the line of friendship with a kiss in the Room of Requirement. This new development has Harry's mind spinning at a time that couldn't be worse—Umbridge has just been named High Inquisitor and Dumbledore is being accused of raising an army to take out the ministry—but Harry can't get his mind off the Slytherin Ice Prince. Even though he knows he must be mad—Draco's father is a notorious Death Eater, after all—Harry agrees to meet Draco once more in the Room of Requirement. Their tentative flirtations quickly turn bolder, and finally, the most anticipated relationship in all of Hogwarts history is confirmed when they agree to date—albeit in secret. Unfortunately, the women in their lives are much shrewder than they give them credit for, and both Hermione and Pansy hint that they know they boys' dirty little secret. Hermione, of course, is too tied up with the arrival of a curious new student named Evan Prince to say anything about it, as Evan is in all of their classes except Potions and his faster reflexes are losing Gryffindor house points fast. But Pansy is a force to be reckoned with. Unlike Romilda Vane, she is not just a spurned lover. Pansy is violent, confronting Draco and Harry physically when she finds them alone—and not only that, but she has the ability to make life all the more dangerous for them with a simple slip of the tongue to the Dark Lord.

If that wasn't enough on Harry's mind, Hermione and Ron have convinced him to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts in secret to the other students who don't believe in Umbridge's tyranny—and it turns out that Hermione has fallen head over heels in love with Evan Prince.

It looks like Harry's fifth year of Hogwarts is about to get difficult; but then again, who ever said being the Boy Who Lived was easy?

* * *

Please **add this story to your alerts** if you already haven't so that you will be informed of future updates. Updates will return within the next week.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Two

* * *

Something of a blizzard fell upon Hogwarts during the night, blowing white mists around the castle until every turret and balcony had a thin layer of decorative frosting. Harry pressed his face to the window as he pulled on one of his heavier cloaks, knowing when he saw a snowball fight raging below that he would need it. The dormitory was deserted—Ron had already gone—but Harry would still have enough time to walk down to Hogsmeade as long as the Weasley twins didn't cut him off with an ice ball.

Stepping out from the entrance hall into the cold winter air, Harry breathed in, letting the chill seep into him like the final chords of a phoenix song. It was a wonder that he'd been able to sleep so soundly when everything had been so hectic lately. He still didn't know how Hermione had found the time to pursue Evan Prince between her seven classes—the ministry had been much stricter with the use of time turners in the past two years. But, then again, Hermione had always been able to make time for their adventures before—that wasn't really worth worrying over.

Pansy was another story entirely.

Her absence from the Great Hall the previous night hadn't brought Harry any relief—on the contrary—the lack of her presence made him suspicious, anxious even. What was she up to that was so important it was worth skipping meals over? Was she planning to make good on her promise of spiking Draco's drink with love potion? Short of Pansy telling Voldemort about their affair, Harry wanted nothing less than for Draco to suddenly reestablish his relationship with the other Slytherin Prefect—

"Hey, Potter. I like the boots. Very nice."

Harry half-smiled, allowing Draco to fall into step beside him, their footsteps crunching against the snow.

"Dragonhide?"

"Yes." Harry looked at him and stopped, letting the air ruffle his dark hair. "Draco, people might see us walking—"

Draco stopped, his nose crinkling as if he smelled something foul. "I see how it is, Potter. I'll just leave you to your friends, then—"

"Draco, _wait_… I didn't mean—"

"Didn't mean what?" Draco asked, erasing the gap between them. "That you're ashamed to be seen with me?"

"This isn't about what our _classmates_ think of us, Draco. Pansy Parkinson wants to _kill_ me. I'm afraid she's going to kill _you_. There's so much more on the line here than just… my _sexuality_."

Draco pulled his cloak tighter around himself, his face impassive. "I wanted to talk to you," he said. Then he turned away, leaving Harry feeling frozen.

* * *

Harry shuffled into the Hog's Head, brushing his boots off on threshold before making his way into the pub. The windows were so slicked with grime; it took a minute for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he felt his stomach sink. Almost twenty students had clambered into a group at the far end of the room near the fireplace. As they watched him approach, Harry saw their expressions—some respect, some fear—and allowed his mouth to set into a tight line that would have made Professor McGonagall proud.

"Oh! Harry, I'm glad you're here." Hermione stood from one of the benches, brushing off her hands on her robes. "We were just about to start without you, but… I really think we'd be better off with you leading us. You've been through the most, after all." She pursed her lips, seeing his expression, and sat down. "I'll, um… just let you talk, then."

Harry's eyes swept over the group. Ron and Ginny, Neville and Luna, Dean, Seamus, the Patil twins… The entire Gryffindor Quidditch team had shown up—it was strange to see them without their uniforms—but even more, there were Ravenclaws, and even Hufflepuffs, too. Had they really all come to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts from the supposedly crazy Boy-Who-Told-Lies?

"Is he going to tell us?" a voice asked from the group—a Hufflepuff boy with an expression haughty enough to rival a Malfoy's. Harry cringed as he mouthed the name _Cedric Diggory_ to one of his peers.

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits and she stepped in front of Harry. "_Excuse me_, Smith, but that is _not_ what this meeting is about."

The Hufflepuff scoffed. "Well that's what we're here for," he said. "Potter might as well tell us, else we'll just believe the propaganda that the ministry's putting out."

Ron, who had been trying not to get involved, stood up from his bench and went to Hermione's side so that he, too, stood in front of Harry. "Don't you think he's been through enough?" he asked the Hufflepuff. "If you're just here to rag on Harry, then you might as well clear out."

Fred and George let out a whoop of applause that the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team joined in on and Harry felt his heart rise in his chest. He stepped forward, between Ron and Hermione, and said, "Thanks guys, really, but… he's right."

Hermione and Ron turned wide-eyed toward him.

"I'm not going to let Umbridge keep the truth in the dark and I'm not going to let her keep torturing students, either." He held up his hand, the script of his scar almost glowing in the firelight. "You see this?" he asked, his voice as low as the crackling fire. "This is what that _monster_ did to me. This is what she had me do during detentions. _I must not tell lies_, written in my own blood. We can't _pretend_ anymore that the Ministry is on our side—they're actively seeking to inhibit us. Do you really think you'll learn how to defend yourself from dark wizards through that rubbish she's teaching us in class?"

"—If one can even call it teaching," Hermione said.

Harry gave a grim smile. "We can't hide from the facts. Do you think denial is going to protect you from Voldemort?" A shudder ran through the group at the mention of the name. "And what about the Death Eaters? Do you think they'll leave you alone because you're children? They won't." He stared at them, meeting every gaze without fear, his mouth tight. "They didn't leave Cedric alone," he said. "They killed him without a second glance, just because he was in their way." He saw Cho Chang's face in the crowd, her caramel eyes glassy with tears she refused to shed. He didn't feel the same attraction to her that he had during their fourth year, but he still felt connected to her through Cedric's death. Cedric had been her friend even more than he had been Harry's.

"I'm not…" Harry faltered, struggling to find the right words. "I'm not any better of a wizard… than Cedric was. The only reason I'm still here and he's not is because of luck—just luck. But if Cedric were here, he would want you all to learn to defend yourself. Knowing even one extra spell can be the difference between life and death in defense against the dark arts."

He closed his mouth, feeling that his words had run dry. He didn't know how else he could go about convincing them.

Then Fred—or was it George?—smiled and said, "I don't know about you lot, but he's got me convinced."

Suddenly the gazes Harry met shone with approval—even courage—and he felt his nervousness dissipate as if he'd cast a Patronus.

"It's no wonder you convince Ron and Hermione to help you stop Voldemort every time," Neville murmured. "With a speech like that, who wouldn't want to fight against him?"

Harry beamed, unable to stop the relief he felt from welling up inside him. "So you'll do it?" he asked. "You'll all come to practice Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

There were nods all around. Even the Hufflepuff, Zacharias Smith, seemed resigned to coming to the meetings, as everyone around him was so enthused about it.

Hermione stepped forward, taking the lead once more. "We should pick a place," she said. "Somewhere," she coughed, lowering her voice, "less dirty."

Harry felt something fall into place in his mind like the crack of a beater's bat against a bludger. "We could use the room across from the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy—the one you used to study, Hermione. We—" He stopped, realizing he'd been thinking of Draco, and his heart seemed to plummet remembering how they'd departed from each other. "Well, I figured out that the room gives you what you ask for. Maybe we can ask for something to help us learn how to defend ourselves—"

He cut off abruptly, then, and set his mouth to a tight frown. When the front entrance had opened, he'd looked up to see the edge of a pink bow atop chestnut curls come through the door.

"She's here," Harry said, and the others looked up in panic. "Next Wednesday at eight," he said in a tight whisper. "Talk to Hermione if you have any more questions. Now let's get out of here before we all have scars on our hands."

* * *

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